


Reconstruction of a Death Eater

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, BDSM, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dom/sub, Explicit Language, Minor Character Death, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: The Dungeon, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: The war is hotting up and, without Dumbledore's hand on the reins, the Light is losing.  The best source of information is reduced to a child.  Harry needs time to train so that he is capable of fulfilling the prophesy but time is one thing they do not have.   Unexpected allies rally to the cause and perhaps, just perhaps, there is a slim chance the Light will not be extinguished.





	1. Chapter 1 - Deconstructed

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Sadly, I suck at summaries but there you go.  I can say I finished this before _Deathly Hallows_ was printed so it is not canon.

My Lord is good. My Lord is great. My Lord is right. I am not worthy of his attention. All loyalty to the Dark Lord, all hail to the Dark Lord, blessed is the name of the Dark Lord. Mighty is the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord is always right. I am not worthy of his attention. His attention uplifts me and I am not worthy.

The litany! Never lose the litany. Let it fill my mind and buttress my soul, let it build the bricks to protect the essence of ‘me’. Feel only the praise, feel only the rightness, this is the way it should be. A servant deserves no better than to be a ‘thing’ in the hands of his master. Don’t feel the pain! Never notice the pain! Wall it out, wall me in. The **PAIN!!!!!!!!!!!………………..**

_‘Occlumency demands complete concentration, hold the litany in the forefront of your mind. Use it as a cover to blur your intentions. Wall up the thoughts within the litany and be safe. There is no Pain!’_

Thank the Lord for his blessings and don’t choke on the bile. Back up now, crawl if you have to, but walk if you know what’s good for you! Do not show weakness or this pack of hyenas will devour you. They smell your blood and your fear and your pain, and they feast on it. Hold it close, sneer at them. Show them how a _real_ Death Eater behaves. Make them realise their own insignificance.

The Death Eater glided out of the dingy cellar and into the night, his mind still safe behind its impregnable walls.

 

 

oo0oo

 

 

4 am at 12 Grimmauld Place was no less busy nowadays than at any other time of the day. The war had been raging full force for over a month now. _‘The Death Eaters have absolutely no respect for decent hours,’_ thought Molly pensively. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a full night sleep. If it wasn’t people coming and going, it was the nightmares that haunted her. She could probably face a boggart now and laugh at it, all her worst fears for her family had already happened, there wasn’t much left that could shake her. _‘It was Friday, no, Wednesday, hell, what day is it? I know it’s September…or is it October now?’_ Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of Tonks’ head thudding softly on the wooden table as she seemed to fall asleep right there in her chair, not that Molly blamed her. Tonks had definitely been burning the wand at both ends in an attempt to fulfil her duties as both Auror and Order member.

Roger Maxim, an ex-St Mungo’s healer, Tonks, Arthur and herself had taken a short break from attending the wounded in the makeshift hospital the old house had become since Sirius died last year. With raids becoming more frequent and indeed more vicious, there was little time to spare for speculation, except in the wee hours of the morning.

For a while it looked as if Bellatrix Lestrange was going to inherit 12 Grimmauld Place, but when they moved Buckbeak and cleaned out his room they found Sirius’ Will leaving the house and half his money to Harry. The big surprise was a marriage certificate, a quiet and longstanding marriage to Remus Lupin, who inherited the other half of Sirius’ property even though he did his best to refuse it until Professor Dumbledore spoke with him. Since then, the old house had become more than just the Order’s Headquarters; it was also the only safe place to hide their injured.

St Mungo’s was not a safe place for any Order of the Phoenix members or their families anymore. The Death Eaters had – on several occasions – broken the sanctity of the hospital to brazenly execute vital members. The first time it happened, Roger had tried to stop the Death Eaters and had been badly injured. It had taken weeks for him to recover, and after his convalescence he had tried to go back to work but the Death Eaters had their eye out for him. He had barely begun his first shift when two of the Death Eaters had apparated into the burns ward and began firing hexes at him. Fleeing, he had almost made it to his front door when the whole house exploded from a blasting hex. He had become a marked man, and so he was no longer safe at work or at home. The St Mungo’s board had very politely asked him not to come back to work until he was no longer a target, which meant he could not work. A week later Professor Dumbledore had approached him and proposed that he set up a small, private clinic at 12 Grimmauld Place. So now he plied his healing magic over the Order members, and Molly helped him care for them as they arrived….

“…and we’ve got absolutely no idea where this information is coming from?” Arthur asked wearily.

_‘What were we talking about again? Oh yes, the anonymous provider of information about what the Death Eaters were doing.’_ She drifted back into her half-awake state.

The first piece of information they had received had allowed them to evacuate four injured Order members just prior to another attack on St Mungo’s hospital. It had been brought to them by a strange owl no one recognised, and they had almost treated the message as a hoax but – just in case – they had decided to move the two Aurors and two civilian members to another ward far away from the original one. Thank Merlin they had! Twelve of the black-clad bastards had apparated into the Magical injuries ward, casting Unforgivables even as they finished materialising. When they realised the whole ward had been evacuated, they swept through the halls of St Mungo’s, indiscriminately blasting anyone too slow to get out of their way. When it became apparent that they would not find their legitimate targets, they had burst into the special ward and finished the job they had started on the Longbottoms sixteen years before, spreading them all over the walls and ceiling in an act of petty revenge. The Aurors under Rufus Scrimgeour had arrived too late to be of any use once again, and serious questions had been raised in the Wizengamot in relation to where the Head of the Aurory’s loyalties lay.

Since then the Order had foiled many Death Eater assaults, saving numerous lives. They were a lot more careful about survivors and how the Order protected them until they were strong enough to protect themselves. In a way it kept the old place humming with company, in another it stretched the Order’s resources to the limits, so many bodies to feed and only so much food in the pantry. Thank Merlin for Hogwarts, whose vast kitchens sent a host of supplies every week for Molly to feed the multitudes with. Since the death of Albus Dumbledore, Headmistress McGonagall had continued to support and succour the Order members just as her predecessor had. Sometimes Molly thought Minerva had a better grasp of the dangers of the situation than Albus ever had, but such traitorous thoughts were quickly squashed.

Unfortunately, when the strange owl brought news that allowed them to foil raids, the Death Eaters often went on rampages, killing and torturing innocents, especially the families of known or suspected Order members, Aurors and Ministry employees who sympathised with the Light. Grimmauld Place had become a regular clinic, dealing with all kinds of trauma wounds, from mere scratches to cursed flesh. Molly, as the most constantly present person, was left to bear the brunt of the workload. She had all but closed up the Burrow and come to live at headquarters full time to try and keep up with the ever increasing load. When it became obvious that she lacked certain skills, she had taken a crash course in Trauma nursing with Roger in an attempt to make her more useful. _‘Chief cook and bottle washer, that’s all I was a month ago…or has it been two months now? Now I am chief nurse as well.’_

“There’s no one amongst the Death Eaters we know of that matches the info we’re getting,” Tonks added, making them all jump a little. They had thought she was asleep with her head on the kitchen table. “It’s not complete, nor as detailed as the intel Snape provides but it is always fairly accurate. When it’s added to other bits and pieces we manage to glean, it sort of glues odd facts together.”

Tonks had been a Godsend with her cheerful manner, wide range of knowledge, Auror training and sheer willingness to do whatever was necessary to help the cause. She had been injured a week ago in an official engagement with a group of Death Eaters in Birmingham. Fortunately, the curse was not fatal and she was nearly well again, strong enough for all practical purposes but not enough to go back to her Auror duties, or at least that’s what the Chief Medical Inspector of the Aurory said. It was the best he could do to help out the Order without compromising his own position with the Ministry. As an undercover agent for the Light, the Chief Medical Auror was excellent at passing information garnered when a Death Eater was taken and questioned.

“Whoever it is, the information has been totally reliable so far,” Roger mused. “They can’t be inner circle, but they know enough to be of help.”

“A most interesting supposition…and that is the most interesting cup of tea I have ever seen, my dear.”

Arthur’s voice filtered into her thoughts and she glanced down, too tired to be astonished to realise she had put both tea and cocoa powder into the same cup. If the truth be told, she hadn’t even noticed that she had stood up to make tea in the first place! “Oh, yes, sorry, I was just; well…what month is it?”

“I think it’s time you took some of your own advice and get some rest. You’re no good to us dead on your feet, my girl. Let’s take the chance to get some shut eye while things are quiet.” Arthur smiled indulgently and patted his wife’s hand, really noticing the black circles and drawn cheeks for the first time. To him, Molly was the most beautiful girl in the world, had been since the very first day he had seen her as a runty first year with more attitude and heart than physical substance. Time and children, war and peace had only added more depth and richness to that perfect vision of a helpmeet. She had only grown more precious over the years until now she was the very centre of his existence – a tired and confused centre perhaps, but still a perfect gem.

“Er, yes, yes, you’re right, I can’t even remember what day it is. By the way…”

Roger cut her off with an understanding smile. “It is 4 am, Friday the 28th of September. Now get some rest,” he ordered sternly then softened his tone, “You’re the cog that turns this place, Molly, we need you fighting fit or I’m afraid it would all come to a screeching halt!” Giving them a cheeky grin, he wandered off toward his own room with a yawn so wide Molly could hear the tendons crackle in his cheeks. She smiled indulgently; he would probably be asleep before his head touched the pillow, if he wasn’t already sleep walking. Without Roger they would not be half as effective as they had been so far. He was a powerful and knowledgeable medi-wizard who was fully converted to their cause but modest enough not to try and enforce his will on the Order. There had been rumours about Roger, hints that he was not what he purported to be. That there was some sort of deep, dark secret in his background that made him unsuitable for promotion up the St Mungo’s ladder of success. The others of the Order had been a little reluctant to entrust their health and very often their lives to his hands, but Molly didn’t care for those nasty rumours, ignoring any sly gossip that cast less than a fully supportive light on her friend and colleague. She worked with him every day and had come to trust his skill and knowledge implicitly. In many cases, Molly’s unwavering belief in Roger had done more to promote trust in the man and his abilities than any other factor.

Arthur supported her elbow as she rose from the table and guided her to the corridor that led into the main part of the house. Bidding Roger goodnight and closing the door, they meandered down the hall toward the stairs, crossing the entry quietly so as not to disturb Mrs Black’s portrait, and headed for the stairs to the upper floors, where the bedrooms were situated.

As they reached the base of the stairs they both became instantly alert, drawing their wands swiftly when an errant breeze stirred the candle flames. The front door was wide open! Two black shrouded figures were lurking in the shadows of the entry hall, the wavering light making them hard to see unless the Weasleys squinted. The shorter had his wand drawn and held firmly in a defensive position, his left arm trying to hold the taller figure up. Before either Arthur or Molly could cast _Expelliarmus_ , the figure very deliberately dropped his wand. The wood clattered to the floor with distinct surrender, and he finally gave up the battle to keep his companion upright. Both sank to their knees in a stiff billow of black robes. Again, it was only the smaller figure’s arm that kept the taller from hitting the floor face first.

“Good evening, Mr and Mrs Weasley, isn’t it? I’m so glad it’s you; I had no idea where he was leading me to. He just kept mumbling something about getting back and stumbling forward most determinedly. He virtually dragged me here, even when the spells on the place tried to repel me. I have no idea how he managed to crawl, never mind walk after what the Dark Lord did to him. He should have been dead by now. No one could stand that sort of punishment for so long and still be sane, no one!” There was a slightly hysterical note in the young voice that tried for urban affability and just failed to make it.

All Molly could see through her rising hysteria was two bodies in all too familiar and dreaded black robes, torn and bloodied but still there, right in the hallway of their supposedly secret headquarters. This was not right! The taller one was drooping forward from the waist as the other spoke and now rested his weight heavily on the shoulder of the smaller speaker. The smaller figure did his best to hold his companion up but was losing the battle, his breathing becoming as ragged and as desperate as his tone. Neither was recognisable in their dull white masks but there was something in the cut glass tones of the speaker that triggered a glimmer of recognition. “Draco? Draco Malfoy is that you?”

“He was in the alley outside the meeting hall, just lying there in the mud and filth, muttering to himself and not making any sense at all. He must have crawled in there to hide after he left them all standing in awe! You should have seen what he went through - Cruciatus Curses, a blasting hex - and then he literally walked out, back straight, head held high. It was amazing. I…I couldn’t just leave him there, not after all he’s done. So, so…. You gotta help him….” At this they both sank to the floor, Draco giving up the struggle to keep his companion from lying on the floor unconscious.

Molly went to go to their aid but Arthur restrained her. “Arthur, for Merlin’s sake, can’t you see who it is?” she demanded, shrugging off his hold impatiently.

Realisation dawned on Arthur’s face. When the light reached his conscious mind, he acted with such affirmation it took Molly totally unawares. Arthur may appear to be a dottery old fool obsessed with Muggle things, but it was his mental acuity that drew and held Molly’s love and devotion the most. Striding forward, he knelt by the fallen Death Eater and carefully felt for a pulse in the depths of the robe without trying to move him from his fallen position. He finally located one, fine and thready and so erratic it was almost imperceptible, but there was still life in the man. Even as he let out a sigh of relief, the figure convulsed, all too familiar tremors shaking his frame. Arthur shivered in sympathy. “Call Roger, then put a firecall in to Poppy. **_NOW!_** ”

His explosive imperative was enough to wake Mrs Black, and her shrill tones began the usual ranting that was now so familiar that ignorance was an automatic response. Molly absently noted that she really must get rid of the old bat when she had a spare moment, even if she had to remove half the wall to do it. It would be just another small chore to add to the growing list. While her mind was occupied with trivialities, her feet, taking on a will of their own, had her racing down the hall toward the nearest Floo-connected fireplace in the front parlour.

As Molly left she saw Arthur using his wand and casting spells to manoeuvre the now prostrate figure toward the kitchen. _‘Why would he be doing that, he’s not contagious.…’_ She hurried to complete her tasks and arrived in the kitchen with a dazed Roger in tow just as the figure was laid on the table. It was only then that she recognised how mortal it was…. Her gasp was heartfelt and prolonged. _‘Oh, Severus, no! Not you, not now!’_


	2. Chapter 2 - Humpty Dumpty

Chapter 2 – _Humpty Dumpty_  

**_‘Stand up straight, you unworthy little bastard!’_ **

**__**

**_‘Don’t you dare cry; you are not fit to weep in my presence!’_ **

**__**

**_‘If you vomit, you will eat it, I swear!  Pig boy, dross, less than dirt!’_ **

**__**

**_‘Call yourself my Grandson?  Worthless effluvium of a broken bitch, scrapings of a diseased womb!_ **

 

**_‘Faint and I will castrate you; move and you will be broken.’_**  

 

 “I will not break, Grandmother.” 

 

 

It was a mumbled reaffirmation of Professor Snape’s will to survive, unconsciously promised against the tumble of memory that ran unchecked through his damaged mind.

 

 

“What did he say?  Did you catch that?  Merlin!  Arthur, where do we start?  There is so much damage, so much physical trauma.  Where do we start?” Molly wailed as she looked down on the broken and bloody pile of meat that had been laid on her newly scrubbed table.  That this was what was left of a human being after that monster – who bloody well shouldn’t be named…ever – had finished with them, was hard to believe.  Hard to believe that this scourged and mangled lump had been someone they knew and spoke to regularly.  The kitchen table was no place for such a badly injured man, nor was 12 Grimmauld Place, but there was no choice.  They didn’t dare move him again for fear of losing him completely.  And even if they did manage to transport him to St Mungo’s the odds were that the Death Eaters would arrive a few minutes later and finish the job their master had started.

 

 

Molly bit her lip and picked up her wand, carefully dissolving the heavy canvas Death Eater robe’s hood away from the Potions Master’s face.  He didn’t move a muscle, not even his eyelids flickered.  Emboldened, Molly touched the tip of her wand to the limp, mangled hand laying closest to her, ready to begin a simple healing spell.  Despite the delicacy of her touch, the meat convulsed, the exposed tendons and sinews contracted and twitched, making broken bones grate.  An artery on the back of his hand burst, the blood squirting rhythmically onto the scrubbed board of the table.  Molly gasped in horror and withdrew her wand immediately.

 

 

“Oh Gods!  He has suffered the Cruciatus Curse to the point of madness, every nerve and sinew scoured to a fever-pitch of tenseness!  If we touch him, he is going to tear himself apart in convulsions,” Roger snapped, staying Molly’s hand instantly.  “We have to get some muscle relaxant potion into him as fast as possible and as much as is humanly possible for him to bear, or he’s going to tear himself into doll rags.  Merlin knows what mental state he’s going to be in, if we can keep him alive long enough for him to regain consciousness.  Anyone suffering this much damage is usually reduced to a complete basket case like the Longbottoms were.”

 

 

“Do you think it’s truly hopeless?  Do you think he has suffered that much?” Molly asked in despair, disentangling her hand carefully and stepping away.  “We… we owe him so much.  Personally, I mean.  Arthur and I.  He saved Charlie’s life when he was taken in the raid on the dragon farms and... and he brought the boys home when they were killed last year.  Is there _nothing_ we can do for him, or are we just going to have to stand here and let him die?”

 

 

Roger patted her shoulder.  “You know the saying, where there’s life there’s hope?  He’s still alive so we had better hope Poppy has some other secret medi-wizard magic up her sleeve.”

 

 

“Arthur?  Gods above!”  Poppy Pomfrey arrived in a flurry of ash and exclamations a few minutes later and took a moment to clean off.  Then, fully apprised of the situation, she immediately set to work on the injured man without a flinch.  With wand held steady, the medi-witch began the series of spells she had learned in St Mungo’s from the healers in charge of the Longbottoms and others who had resided in the special ward.  She had also learned a few things herself over the years and drew on every ounce of her hard-won skills to suppress her very real upset at the condition of a valued colleague.

 

 

The charms were designed to help reduce the tremors and stop the victim’s own muscles and sinews from tearing themselves free of the bones as they tightened and writhed under the residual effects of the curse.  Ironically, Severus Snape had been one of the pioneers of the technique, drawing on experience he had undoubtedly picked up during the First Voldemort War, although he would not confess to such a thing.  It was a very tricky spell to use, much like its maker:  too little and it was as effective as pouring alcohol on a house fire; too much and the patient’s involuntary muscles ceased to hold tension.  Unfortunately, when a heart muscle stopped holding tension, it stopped, and so did the person.

 

 

To add even more complications, the spell was cumulative; it could not be reversed.  The only way to control the dosage was by adding power to the original spell in tiny increments.  Regrettably, you could not cancel the last increment on its own if you made a mistake.  The whole spell had to be cancelled completely, which was usually disastrous for the sufferer as the convulsions that had been held in check hit all at once in one giant wave.  So it took practice to apply the healing magic in just the right amounts and to judge when to stop administering the charm.

 

 

Roger hovered nearby, watching like a hawk as the older woman worked; she continued to cast in fractions of the spell that seemed far too small to him.  Severus Snape was all of six feet six inches tall, if he was an inch, and the charm worked on body mass.  Roger felt she could have started with a more significant amount, then added in much larger increments at the beginning, but Poppy never faltered in her casting, stopping far sooner than Roger thought she should.

 

 

“Will that be enough?” he was forced to ask as Poppy stood back from the bed and watched her patient intently.  “I mean, he’s quite a large man, you know?”

 

 

“Severus is long, that much is true, but he barely weighs in at ten stone, if he’s lucky.  The man doesn’t eat enough to keep a very small sparrow alive, I assure you.  Under that forbidding black robe and laser sharp glare there’s hardly enough substance to animate a skeleton,” Poppy informed him grimly.  “I kept nagging him to eat more, but the man lives on his nerves, has done for years.  Look, trust me on this one, Roger; he has been my patient far too frequently for me to overestimate his weight.  I have been Severus’ main medical practitioner for the best part of three decades, and I do know him rather well.”

 

 

Shaking his head, Roger acquiesced and stood back as the final dose of spell took hold.  The hand nearest him slowly uncurled from its claw-like clench, the fingers straightening then curving into a more relaxed position.  Broken bone splinters slid through the mangled meat and seemed to be trying to realign of their own accord once the terrible tension in the sinews had been relieved.  Obviously the man’s own magic was still present and trying desperately to come to his aid even unconsciously.  Poppy shot Roger a triumphant smile as she grabbed the nearest bottle of the potion that made up the second line of treatment for the Cruciatus Curse.  The potion made sure that the spell’s effects were prolonged as long as possible, enhancing and stabilising the fragmented spell into a more harmonious and effective whole.  It was not feasible to cast the same spell over the same victim for a further forty-eight hours, so any prolonging of the effect was most necessary.

 

 

At last, having waited a full three minutes to allow the potion to do its work, Poppy began cutting away the first layers of tattered and torn robes with an efficiency that spoke of long experience and much practice.  Since it was not advisable to move the victim, the heavy robe had to be carefully sliced into small pieces and magically eased away from the flesh.  Molly hummed in sympathy when the drying blood made the cloth adhere and the stickiness literally tore flesh away from bone as it came free.  Even Poppy winced in unison as a particularly large tear opened wider despite all her care.

 

 

As each skeletally thin limb was exposed, the extent of the damage became more apparent and edged closer to fatal.  It seemed amazing to the onlookers that such a thin, yellow man could leak so much deep red blood or show so much shredded red meat.  Every time they touched or moved him in any way, they caused more harm than they healed.  It was absolutely daunting, but there was no choice but to continue.  Severus Snape had been punished deeply, thoroughly and extensively:  flesh torn apart to expose bones, bones broken and pushed up through the skin, and in the case of one forearm, the meat flayed from the bone with surgical precision.  Ironically enough, the only unscratched or untorn piece of flesh Molly could see from her post by the sink was the accursed Dark Mark that stood out so black and evil against Severus’ pale yellow skin.  It would take a lot of Skele-Gro to put Severus back together again, not to mention muscle knitting, skin growing and blood replenishment potions which would be needed by the bucketful.

 

 

“Shall I remove his necklace?” Molly asked the two healers when the thin golden chain bearing a beautifully etched snake pendant came into sight.  It was a delicate piece, beautifully made and quite ancient, but jewellery was not really something one would associate with Severus Snape.

 

 

Poppy glanced up distractedly.  “Yes, that would be a good idea, I suppose.”

 

 

Molly picked up the chain and tried to find a clasp but it appeared solid.  Then she tried to slip it over his head without disturbing Roger’s spell but the chain was too short.  Finally, she tried to snap the chain but it proved too solid for that.  A small crease added yet another furrow to the already impressive frown on her face.  “I can’t get it off,” she muttered in disgust.

 

 

“Oh, just leave it,” Roger dismissed absentmindedly, fully immersed in trying to contact some part of Snape’s conscious mind and failing abysmally.  “It’s not that much in the way, just push it to one side and ignore it.”  All three promptly forgot about the delicate pendant almost instantly.

 

 

The more clothing they removed the more damage the three person medical team revealed.  This was not the work of punishment, this was the result of a sadist running unchecked and wild.  It was sickening to see how much damage had been inflicted on the man and, if Draco was to be believed, for no real reason, simply because He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named could.  No inch of Snape’s flesh had been spared, not even his toes, two of which were broken, the nails missing from both feet and hands.  The skin of his chest and abdomen had been systematically sliced open, and only the remains of the tight undershirt he always wore stood between Snape and tipping his guts out onto the floor.  A series of _Acclaro_ spells revealed even more damage and trauma as they glowed into life.  Internal organs were torn and split, crushed and bruised, one kidney mashed beyond even Poppy’s most optimistic will to repair.  Neither Poppy nor Roger had any idea of how Severus was still alive and breathing, but Molly thought it might have been pure stubborn contrariness on Severus’ part keeping body and soul together.

 

 

“Even his heart is bruised and ready to burst at any second.  If he does survive this, Arthur, he will never be as strong or robust as he was, possibly a complete physical invalid.  _If_ he survives, that is - and I don’t guarantee his survival at this point.  Gods above, I can’t even guarantee he will still be breathing an hour from now, not with all this damage.  He looks as if a crew of hit wizards with bludgers had worked on him for a few weeks,” Poppy sighed and cast yet another spell over her fellow teacher’s liver to reveal the extent of the damage and what needed to be done before they could restart function.

 

 

One step at a time, she built a picture of the splintered bones so that all the observers could see what was needed to fit them back together, besides infinite patience.  Most of the larger bones looked like some three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle, and many of the smaller bones were in no better condition.

 

 

“His brain is badly injured, too,” Roger confessed heavily.  “He has suffered a very hard blow to his skull, a physical blow, not a magical blow I think, whose impact shattered the bone in a star pattern from the point of contact outward.  Where his skull has been fractured, there is extensive bruising on the brain itself, which is causing pressure to build up.  If we can’t let out the pressure, then the resulting bleeding will destroy the tissue it is pressing on.  Just to complicate matters, he has surrounded his consciousness with Occlumency to hide his secrets, in effect becoming his own Secret Keeper.  I have to admit that I am impressed by his sheer strength of mind.  Unfortunately, that strength of mind is working against him in this case, and he has slipped into a loop of Occlumency which he doesn’t seem to be able to step out of.  Even if we can heal his body, I don’t know if we can reach his mind.  What I wouldn’t give for Albus Dumbledore right now!  Although not my favourite person, he was the only one I knew of who had either the skill or the ability at the level Severus Snape had reached, apart from perhaps Voldemort himself.  Without a true master of the art I’m afraid no one can reach him.”

 

 

The admission almost made Molly cry out rather than containing her tears to a silent rain down her face.  The overall picture was so disheartening, just another blow to add to the many they had suffered over the past year since the Headmaster had been killed.  Severus was not her favourite human being, but she had great respect for him as a person.  The job he did was highly dangerous, but it had kept so many of their people alive and free.  When Fred had been taken six months ago, George had literally felt his pain and mounted a wild, impossible rescue mission which had been doomed to failure even before he had been captured, too.  Both boys had been terribly tortured and killed by the hungry pack of Death Eaters before any of the Order could even discover where they were being held.  Severus had found out where they had been kept, but the information had been a fraction too late to save their lives.  However, he had rescued their bodies and brought them home for burial in the Weasley plot, which had given both she and Arthur a measure of closure over the tragedy.

 

 

The shock of the twins’ deaths had been so great that Molly had not questioned anything until much later and then, having seen first-hand what a pack of Death Eaters could do to a human being, she began to suspect Severus had done some impressive post mortem reconstruction of her boys.  She could still remember the apology he had given her, as if he was personally responsible for their deaths.  It had been the first real conversation they had ever had, and she had been struck by the deeply seated loneliness in the Potions Master’s eyes that even he had possibly been unaware of.

 

 

Almost to compensate for his failure to bring the twins back alive, Snape had managed to get Charlie free when he had been captured by Mulciber during a raid on the dragon farms in Romania, the purpose of which they had never really discovered.  There was no doubt Charlie had been tortured severely, his flesh mangled and torn.  They had had to spend many days putting him back together again, but at least Charlie was still alive and as safe in Romania with his beloved dragons again as anywhere in their very troubled world.  Sometimes Molly wished she could send Ron and Ginny off to Romania to stay with Charlie but they had to go to school especially when the future of Hogwarts was so precarious in these troubled times.  A lot of people thought the place should be closed down and the children sent home to their families.  Another faction was convinced that a central concentration of magic such as Hogwarts represented should not be left unattended and stagnant.  The Wizarding World needed such strongholds alive and available to be used in the Good fight against the evil the Death Eaters represented.  And besides, Charlie wouldn’t be able to cope with his two younger siblings, who would be equally unhappy if she tried to uproot them and separate them from Harry and the rest of their friends.  Nor, she admitted to herself, would she be able to sleep if all of her babies were so far away from her, even if they would be safer.  Wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, Molly turned back to her patient.

 

 

Poppy had finished the initial survey of the damage before they could start the serious work of repairing the internal injuries.  Each organ had to be repaired and virtually renewed, so extensive was the damage.  It was going to take every erg of magic they could scrape up between them and even then, it would be a close run thing.  At a word from the medi-witch Molly turned her experience with so many boys’ childhood mishaps on the broken and damaged limbs, supporting and conserving the medi-witch’s energy by taking over the monitoring and renewing of the spells Poppy had already cast.  Roger, muttering charms interspersed with the occasional tsk or soft curse, fought to save what was left, if anything, of Snape’s brain and mind, which was his speciality. 


	3. Chapter 3 - Trying to Raise the Dead

  
Author's notes: Although Rodger, Poppy and Molly are trying very hard, they are not winning the war against Snape's injuries and Snape is not a normal patient.  And then there is Malfoy Junior...  


* * *

**Chapter 3 – _Trying to Raise the Dead_**

“I know we shouldn’t be seen together, but what could I do?  We are supposed to be the pattern cards for the Dark Side, but he is something else indeed!  The others, Greyback, Goyle, even the Lestranges were screaming and howling and promising everything.  Me too, I admit.  But not Severus.  He just stood there and took it, again and again, an Unforgivable Curse which no one is supposed to be able to resist. But he never gave an inch.  Then the Dark Lord began using cutting jinxes, bludger hexes and any other torture spell he could think of, but despite the pain, Severus never made a single noise, not one!  Every time he fell to his knees, the Dark Lord stopped and laughed, but Uncle Severus just slowly and carefully climbed to his feet and said he had done nothing he was ashamed of.  Again and again he repeated that line, those words, even when his bones were sticking out of his very skin, and then he walked out.  He walked out!”  The voice was tired and slightly hysterical, soft and insistent, on the very verge of collapse.  
  
Everyone had forgotten about Draco Malfoy, one of the rising young stars of the Death Eater Movement, who was now standing in the inner sanctum of the Order’s headquarters, big as life and bold as brass.  Arthur, pressed into service with Tonks to brew a Blood Replenishing Potion, re-aimed his already drawn wand by habit, and Tonks drew hers immediately.  Both wands orientated on the boy who did not notice the new and immediate threat.  
  
Draco continued as if in a trance, “Lord Voldemort,” – even now there was a sharp intake of breath at the mention of his name, but it did not register with the blond youth.  “He just snapped completely, left reality behind while allowing his rage to take over.  His last few raids had been foiled by the Aurors, and he was out to find the traitor.  Determined to find one, and anyone would do, guilty or innocent had no bearing.  Anyone and everyone in the room was in the firing line, and everyone suffered the Cruciatus Curse indiscriminately.  Then Professor Snape walked in, arriving late for some reason, and the Dark Lord went berserk!  He said Snape was the only one who knew all the details of his plans.  He was a trusted lieutenant, given rights and privileges above and beyond anyone else, and yet he was still a traitor to the cause, no matter what he professed.  I suppose the Lord had forgotten about crowing in anticipation to everyone in the Great Hall, bragging about how wonderful the next few weeks were to be, what a triumphant campaign he was going to wage.”  The sheer disgust in the young man’s voice was amazing to his listeners, too real and heartfelt to be faked.  
  
He blinked suddenly, a much more familiar sneer curving his lips.  “Gods, I hate that ugly unacceptable travesty of a man with his extremely bad grammar and overweening ego!  He is so… so _aesthetically unappealing_.  Really disgusting!  At least Dumbledore didn’t _monologue_ ; I’ll give him that much credit, although some of his lectures were more suited to five-year olds.  The Dark Lord said he would do whatever it took to get the truth out of Snape, but he was really just looking for a convenient outlet for his temper, a scapegoat if you like.  He seemed to have a very personal grudge against Uncle Severus and took great pleasure in hurting and humiliating him in front of everyone else.  All I could do was stand there and watch and pray he would not be killed.  Oh Merlin, what have I done?”  The young voice rose in a wail as the boy’s own wounds and curse signatures flared and beat at his nerves.  “If I hadn’t acquired an anonymous owl to pass on that information, if I had just kept quiet, this would never have happened.  He would never have hurt Uncle Severus like that, with such studied and intense hatred.  I fell over him in the alley; I couldn’t just leave him, not after what I’d done to him.”  
  
Two thoughts met and merged to form a decision in Arthur’s mind almost instantly.  “Hush now, Draco, it’s alright, son.  We’ll see to your Uncle Severus and do our best to keep him alive.  You go with Tonks and she’ll take care of you, get you some potions and deal with those tremors,” Arthur soothed the young man who looked as if he was at his last gasp, too, as the curse shivers shook his whole frame.  In fact, he resembled a small, terrified child with his frail blond looks and enormous, tear-drowned eyes.  
  
Madam Pomfrey was too engrossed in her work to notice what was happening.  Molly merely looked up, smiled approvingly and then returned to her ministrations, knowing Arthur would cope with the badly-used child.  He had always been the more sympathetic of them when it came to dealing with the children’s hurts, either physical or emotional.  She was the practical one who dealt in discipline and order.  
  
Roger was open-mouthed, especially when Arthur gave the boy a one-armed hug before turning him toward the door.  Sometimes Molly and Arthur were too kind and naïve for this war, which he feared would be the end of them.  
  
Tonks was incensed.  “What?” she exclaimed.  “Are you insane? He’s a viper!  A Death Eater in training!  He always has been.  Have you seen the dossier on him and his accursed family at Auror headquarters, it’s half a foot thick, I tell you.  He helped kill Professor Dumbledore, not even a year ago!  Surely you remember that small fact?  We should get rid of him now before he does more damage, before he is allowed to spread word of where this headquarters is situated.  You don’t get chances like this plunked in your lap every day!”  
  
Arthur sighed.  “Think a minute.  He’s surrendered his wand without either of us even asking for it, and he blames himself for Severus’ injuries just because he passed on some minor bits of information.  Besides, things are rarely quite what they seem in this war, remember?  We all wondered why Dumbledore seemed so ready to accept death, even begged for it from Severus.  We all know Severus was protecting Draco due to the Binding he had made with Narcissa, and we also know Albus was protecting the both of them, too, with what turned out to be his dying breath.  His last note stated that very clearly, if you remember?  Professor Dumbledore knew he was not long for this world and wanted his death to be significant in securing Severus’ place with You-Know-Who.  It would seem rather ungrateful to kill Draco and ruin Albus’ sacrifice for nothing, now wouldn’t it?”  
  
Her eyebrows raised, “Shit!  I never thought…it makes sense though.  I never understood why Dumbledore liked Snape so much.  Why he was always defending the greasy git to all of us.”  
  
Roger stirred.  “He thought of Snape as a salve to his conscience, someone he could rescue and succour after his failure with a…previous er, son.”  The man’s slightly bitter tones trailed off into an embarrassed silence when he realised everyone was looking at him with a puzzled sort of questioning.  
  
Tonks recovered first and shrugged dismissively.  “If Malfoy is Snape’s godson and also a spy, then I suppose Dumbledore had a soft spot for the boy, too”  
  
They all focused on ‘the boy’.  Blood, dirt and tears stained the usually porcelain complexion; the typically immaculate hair and robes were streaked and soiled with slime and dirt.  He was standing in the middle of the ‘enemy camp’, but he was oblivious to the wands pointed at his head.  All he could do was stand riveted, staring at the pile of blood and meat he had dragged in, the mortal remains of his Uncle and Godfather, praying Severus survived the ordeal.  If his Godfather died, then Draco knew it would be all his fault for having betrayed him in so many small ways, quite unintentionally.  With every half-sobbed breath, tremors coursed over the boy, shaking the shredded robe and causing some of the odd facial ticks they were all far too familiar with.  Severus might be shredded, but the boy had suffered his own round of the Cruciatus Curse, which was self-evident.  “Tonks, my dear, keep him safe and out of the public eye, won’t you?  Take him upstairs and make sure he is cared for, cleaned up and fed.”  
  
“Sure, Arthur,” the metamorphmagus uttered slightly awed; she was not easily impressed but Arthur’s almost superhuman ability to forgive the enemy left her stunned and humbled.  If the Weasleys, after losing so much, could accept the boy’s self-evident repentance, then she could do no less.  
  
For ages they had been debating over whom the new informant was, even as lately as a few hours ago, and this was not a picture any of them had drawn.  Malfoy junior had earned his own notoriety for being present when Snape killed Dumbledore.  They had both fled with the Death Eaters to join their Lord and Master wherever he had been hiding out at the time.  Seeing Draco in the light of day, a war-weary boy unarmed and curse injured, with a tear-streaked face and trembling lip, seemed to dispel the horns and tail he had been credited with by the Daily Prophet.  Taking pity on him, she curved an arm around the thin shoulders and led him away.  After a few moments of heated internal debate, Tonks even managed a smile.  “Come on, kid, I’ll get you a bath going.  There’s a couple of potions in the bathroom with your name on them.  They will help ease those tremors,” she told him in the overly cheerful tones one saved especially for invalids and half wits.  
  
The boy went with little resistance, staring back over his shoulder at his uncle until the door closed behind him.

oo0oo

****_‘Moron!  Idiot!  Stand up straight!  Who gave you permission to lie down?  How dare you take such liberties!’_  
  
‘You will learn that passage, word and gesture perfect, before any food or drink crosses your lips again.  Do you understand?’   
  
The crop cut across his shoulders as he sprang to attention, hands at his side, thumbs neatly tucked into his fists, eyes facing front.   
  
‘Dung, dirt, less than nothing!  Human!  I can see you thinking!  How dare you even think about questioning me?’  
  
‘You despised excuse for a useless waste of space!  Who gave you permission to leave your kennel?’  
  
‘Live with your discomfort.  It is more than you deserve!’  
  
“Yes, Grandmother,” came the voice of a small child.  
  
Severus knew how to live with discomfort; he had been taught it well.  From the age of eighteen months when his mother had failed to protect him from his father and Grandmother, the old woman had subjected him to the test for vampirism.  The tests themselves were painful and intrusive, causing the tiny child much terror and pain.  He had failed every test, proving to be distressingly human, and Grandmother had begun a regime to force him to convert or kill him, whichever came first.  And either outcome would have been equally welcome.

oo0oo

In the real world, Molly, Poppy and Roger looked at the head of the carcass on the table, unsure about what they had heard but knowing it wasn’t good.  They weren’t quite sure what the man had said but the fact that he had managed to speak at all was distressing.  
  
“He shouldn’t be conscious, shouldn’t be able to speak … or think or… or anything!” Roger said uncertainly, glancing at the two women.  “His mind is completely empty, not a trace of thought to be found.  And there are enough potions running around in his system to embalm him completely, never mind heal him.”  
  
Neither woman had an answer or an explanation so they turned back to their work and were quickly engrossed in it once again.

oo0oo

****_‘Grandmother???  How dare you defile me with that title?  You are not worthy of that claim!’_  
  
‘You are not worthy of the air you breathe!’  
  
‘How dare you even look at me!’  
  
The crop lashed at his shoulders again.

oo0oo

The body in front of them suddenly went rigid as a board, tearing at the already torn flesh and making various wounds begin to bleed again.  They looked at each other startled.  “He seems not only to have retreated into his mind, but also in time,” Roger ventured.  “My statement still stands, how on earth can he be speaking or moving when we have him under so many spells?  The _Acclaro_ spell says he’s a vegetable.”  
  
“We’ll have to work that one out later.  His Legilimency and Occlumency are of such an order that the usual spells may be useless against them.  I’ve cobbled him together temporarily and done all I can with his heart for now.  If I don’t get started on the other organs, it will all be for naught.  Where are you up to, Molly?” asked Madam Pomfrey.  
  
“Well, I had managed to stop him bleeding to death externally, but that last lot of, whatever it was, has started a few places bleeding again, nothing serious, thank Goodness.  Most of the major bones are back together again, apart from a few splinters that we may need to remove, if they won’t reattach.  I planned to deal with the lesser bones next.  Finding one intact will be the real trick,” replied Molly soberly.  
  
“Roger?”  
  
“I’ve dealt with the physical damage, the skull fracture is fused, and the bruising and swelling of the brain have been alleviated.  The rest, well…”  He shrugged in defeat.  
  
“Can you move to his lungs then?  They seem to have been scorched internally; I need to get to what’s left of his kidneys.  Much as I hate to do it, I’m going to have to remove this one, it is beyond help.  Arthur, how is that Blood Replenishing Potion going?  We’ve already used up our whole supply.”  
  
“I’m just bottling it now, Poppy,” Arthur assured her, tapping the caps and sealing them carefully.  
  
“Has it been two hours already?  You better start another batch straight away; we’re in for a long night.”  She sighed deeply and started to work again.

oo0oo

****_“You unworthy slime from the primordial ooze.”  
  
“That’s right, give up like that evolutionary mistake that died after spitting you out!”  
  
“You are thinking again, are you not?  No, I am not required to love a reject like you.  I’m offering you the key to untold riches, and you defile that gift with your_ human _fancies.”  
  
“You are just as bad as the pathetic fools that spawned you.  Love conquers all, ha!  Love is the excuse weak people use to cover mistakes like you.”  
  
“Arrogance…what do_ you _have to be arrogant about?  It is as bad as crying like a worthless accident.  I can discard that error like the others.”_  
  
The burning pain in his joints turned to fire as she turned the screw on the rack he had been placed in many days ago.

oo0oo

The arms of the body on the table suddenly flew overhead as all the joints in the body cracked from fingertips to toes.  Molly gasped as the bones of Severus’ forearm that she had spent so long putting back together fell apart, the almost completed spell shattering under the unexpected movement.  All three almost instinctively snapped out body binds and holding spells over the injuries they had been working on to minimise the damage the unexpected movement had caused.  
  
“What the…?” exclaimed Poppy.  “Roger, can you do something about this?  These reactions he’s having could undo all we’ve done.  It’ll kill him!  Oh quick, Molly, put some pressure on that artery, it’s about to pop the holding spell again!”  
  
“I wish I could immobilise him,” Roger replied in exasperation.  “I’ve tried every spell, incantation and charm I can think of to hold him but they are useless.  Hell…I’ve even explored my knowledge of dark magic, which isn’t much, I must admit, but is all related to quelling mind and body so that they are more open to the forces of magic being applied to them.  I even tried to put him into a bewitched coma, although that is _really_ not advised by any medical authority in cases of brain trauma.  I hit a brick wall in his mind, didn’t even manage to contact a trace of his real personality, just some vague memories and fleeting snatches of pain.  The Occlumency loop he has gone into is shielding his whole mind so totally, it’s impregnable,” said Roger with palpable respect in his tone.  “On the other hand, he feels no pain from his injuries even when he involuntarily aggravates them, and if he does slip over the edge into the next life, then it will be a pleasant and easy going, which is more than most people can expect these days,” he added in consolation, seeing the fear and despair on Molly’s face.  
  
“We’ll just have to do what we can then and hope he doesn’t slip away from us,” murmured Poppy.  
  
“He is so stubborn he probably won’t go, simply for spite and awkwardness.”  Roger grinned crookedly at the two women who smiled back sadly, and then he nodded to the neo-corpse in front of them.  “Even so, I think we should do everything we can to help keep his stubborn body and soul together, don’t you think?”  
  
They all went back to the well-ordered routine they had developed over the last months, each working in unison to heal the poor souls that unfortunately crossed the paths of the Death Eaters.  Severus now lay as still as death, no more twitching and moving as they worked hard and fast to conserve his life and energy.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Beginning of Understanding

**Chapter 4** _The Beginning of Understanding_

Tonks showed Draco out of the kitchen and up the stairs.  He staggered a little near the top of the flight, and Tonks instinctively put out a hand to help him.  He shrugged it off impatiently, squared his shoulders, assumed his pure-blood air and continued as though nothing had occurred.  By the top of the second flight of stairs his resolve began to falter, and this time Tonks didn’t let him shrug her off as she steered him to the second floor bathroom.   
  
It was a dingy affair like most of the rooms in the old house, institutional green and brownish cream tiles stuck three quarters of the way up the walls and dull unpolished slates on the floor.  The cast iron bathtub had a rust mark in the enamelled coating where the tap dripped constantly, but it was as deep and as wide as a baby swimming pool.  Draco looked around disdainfully at the age-spotted mirror and the cracked slates on the floor before turning to the witch who still hovered at his elbow.   
  
“This place is disgusting!  Surely you don’t expect me to use this filthy hole to wash in?”   
  
Tonks stiffened and glared hotly.  “Listen, you spoilt little brat, this is as good as it gets, so either shut up or push off!  Just remember, _Little Cousin,_ you could just as easily be staying in Azkaban at this point in time.  This would be a palace in comparison to what that hole has to offer.  Now get your traitorous uniform off and let me treat your wounds as per orders from the senior medical wizard.  You know what orders are, don’t you?”   
  
“Oh yes, those things I give to other people,” Draco murmured wickedly.   
  
Tonks drew a sharp breath, her wand rising automatically until she saw the taunting glitter in her cousin’s eye, the lurking misery behind it.  Matching glare for glare she lowered her wand hand and then smiled sweetly, shifting appearance until she mirrored Draco’s pale good looks perfectly, although in a feminine version.  “Yes, that’s right, _those_ things,” she told him in matching purebred tones.   
  
Draco smirked, having successfully gotten a rise out of her, and murmured _Finite Incantatem_ over his robes which promptly returned to his school uniform, a little worse for wear but totally innocuous.  Tonks narrowed her eyes.  So that was how they managed to stay anonymous or disappear into a crowd so quickly, due to a simple transformation spell.  It was a piece of information well worth having for future reference.   
  
“Humm, clever, yes,” Draco smirked, seeing her expression turn thoughtful and calculating.  “Catch us if you can when we are just part of the poor, innocent crowd’,” he taunted, laying his robes aside fastidiously over the clothes rail provided.   
  
Tonks really, really wanted to punch his pureblood patrician nose but managed to restrain herself when she recognised the sheer misery in the boy’s eyes.  He wanted to be punished, she realised; wanted to fight and rage and expiate his guilt in some physical way.  Instead, she smiled and patted his arm companionably.  “Come on, Draco, let’s get some potion into you to ease those tremors.  It’s from Professor Snape’s cauldron so we know it is all good, no poison slipped in by an unsuspected Death Eater sympathiser.  I didn’t know Severus was related to you.  Is he related to me, too?”   
  
Draco glared at the reminder that this metamorphmagus was actually his first cousin; her mother and his mother were blood sisters, although a few years apart in age.  Of course, they were both related to Bellatrix Lestrange, so that wasn’t saying much!  “Severus is my Godfather but not a blood relative,” he said haughtily, “which makes him no relation of yours, thank Merlin!   
  
“Hey, I’m not so bad when you get to know me.”  Tonks grinned cheerfully, her usual good humour restored.   
  
“And that is supposed to reassure me?”  Draco shot back but without the sharp-edged malice he usually coated his words with.   
  
Tonks laughed appreciatively and opened the cupboard, pulling down various bottles and packets.  “Here, drink this; it’s definitely from Professor Snape’s cauldron so it will probably not poison you, most likely.  He can be a bit acidic, you know.”   
  
Draco grimaced but drank obediently, a shiver coursing through him.  He hated the way the Cruciatus Curse just kept on keeping on, the involuntary quivering of his muscles making him think of ants running about under his skin, ants with hobnailed boots on!  Tonks nodded and passed him the next portion of potion with a wicked grin even as she changed her appearance with no apparent effort.  Eyeing the girl who now looked like his identical twin, Draco drank the foul concoction, pulling as many horrendous faces as he could think of.  Tonks mirrored his efforts and topped them at times until they both burst out laughing.  “Alright, conceded, you are a very good metamorphmagus,” Draco pronounced as he drank the water she offered to wash away the taste of his medicine.   
  
“Let me just cast a quick _Acclaro_ over you and see oh yes, so much better you should be feeling a little more chipper very soon, the potions tend to kick in very quickly,” Tonks told him as her appearance wavered into her own standard look, and she held out a thin brown hand.  “Give me your outer robes, and I’ll get them cleaned up and mended for you.  We can’t send you back to school looking like a ragamuffin, what would Professor McGonagall say?  There are clean towels in the cupboard, shampoo and soap on the shelf.  Have a soak in the bath and get cleaned up yourself.  Breakfast will be coming in from Hogwarts pretty soon, but you may have time to take a quick nap before then.  The kitchen is out of action for a while, or well, for a while anyway.”   
  
“Until he dies, did you mean?” Draco asked harshly.  “He won’t, you know?  He can’t!”   
  
“Draco, he is so badly hurt, he might,” Tonks warned gently, holding up a palm to quell his rising indignation.   
  
Draco shook his head, making his filthy hair bounce wildly.  “No.  I no, I have lost everyone I care about to the Death Eaters and that disgusting travesty of a man, but they aren’t having Uncle Severus; that I cannot permit and will fight to the death to prevent.”   
  
Tonks frowned at the boy who was grimly determined.  “Your parents are still alive, aren’t they?”   
  
“Hah!  They are his creatures, and they may as well be dead for all the notice they take of the real world!  Out!”   
  
Tonks felt the magic in him driving her back, the door slamming as soon as she was clear.  Head bowed thoughtfully, Tonks wandered away.  She had never had anything to do with her aunt and uncle, her mother having severed all relations with them when they declared for the Dark Lord during the First Voldemort War.  In truth, Tonks had never thought about what it might be like to have two Death Eaters for parents, either.  Now she had to think about it as she had been challenged by the strange youth who was her cousin, and she didn’t like the picture her thoughts and real knowledge of the evil faction was painting.  If they acted as wildly and as unpredictably at home as they did in the field, having Death Eater parents would be horrendous!  With that conclusion, Tonks shook her head sadly, tripped over the hall runner and stumbled head first into her bedroom.

oo0oo

Several hours later all three medical personnel stood back from the kitchen table, exhaustion dragging at their heels.  They had been working for a solid six hours to keep Severus Snape alive and kicking, and so far they seemed to have succeeded in keeping him alive at least.  Roger stared out of black circled eyes at the two women he had worked as one with and smiled slightly.  They really didn’t look any better than he, exhausted, wrung out and not even quietly triumphant, rather just resigned and tired.   
  
“We do good work,” he murmured, pushing a hank of limp brown hair out of his dark blue eyes.  His long, bony face was haggard and drawn making him look older than time.   
  
“We do that.”  Poppy smiled back, a spark of recognition tapping at the back of her mind but she was too tired to feel the slightest bit of curiosity, instead she sighed deeply.  “Let’s hope Severus is stubborn enough to stay alive long enough to heal enough to stay alive.”   
  
“Now say that fast five times,” Molly muttered, then clenched her teeth to stop a howl of loss breaking out at the unthinking reference her tired mind made to her twin boys.   
  
Poppy squeezed her shoulder in sympathy, knowing exactly what she was referring to.  Roger missed the significance of the moment, lost in his own world of concerns.  “Let’s just hope that if he does heal, he manages to break out of his loop or he will never be whole.  He may remain a living, breathing vegetable, forever trapped in the confines of his own skull.”   
  
All three sighed in unison then straightened tiredly, joints protesting the ill-usage.  “Right, let’s get him into the ballroom for recovery; there are a couple of free cots there.  Who is on duty as nurse just now?  We had better make sure they know he needs a close eye kept on him.  Better yet, I’ll put an alarm charm on him to monitor his progress and to alert us if there is any change we need to be aware of.”  Roger dug up a shred of remaining energy to cast _Mobili Corpus_ over the unconscious figure now swathed in bandages.   
  
The make-shift ward they had set up in the once elegant ballroom was indeed a grim and most unsanitary place, not at all suitable for patients recovering from serious injuries and maladies, but it was the best they could do.  Cots lined the walls where once debutants and their duennas had watched couples whirl around the floor.  The long, elegant windows were shrouded by the ragged remains of the once equally elegant velvet drapes, which now only barely served to keep the cold out.  House-elves on loan from Hogwarts, led by the indomitable Dobby, did their best to keep the place clean, but the turn-over of patients was such that the mess never entirely went away.   
  
One or two people looked up as the new patient was floated in but their gazes were incurious, and all went back to dosing until their treatment spells were complete and they could be released.  Molly quickly cast a glamour over Snape’s features and tucked the plain blue blanket around his thin shoulders, careful to make sure his left forearm was completely under the covers.  It wouldn’t do for anyone to see the grim black Dark Mark on that very pale skin.  Not everyone in the Order was aware that Snape was a spy so they had to hide him as best they could.  Roger clicked his tongue at his oversight and quickly conjured a bandage over the mark to hide it more effectively, making Molly smile her thanks.   
  
“I’ll take first watch,” she offered and held out her arm for Roger to put the watch charm onto her wrist.  He didn’t argue, casting the invisible charm quickly and efficiently, as Poppy made her way to the floo and was whisked away to Hogwarts to try and catch an hour’s sleep before the weekend warriors flocked in to be treated.  Nodding to the woman on duty, Molly pulled up an armchair and sat down to try and get some rest while Roger wandered off to his bed once again with the same goal in mind.

oo0oo

The kitchen door opened with a bang.  Harry and Hermione entered noisily pushing Ron between them.  All three stopped in shock when they realised the area was empty, no Molly presiding over the cauldrons and teapot, just a clean empty space ready for use.   
  
“That’s odd,” Ron muttered, glancing around hurriedly.  “And just typical, mind you, that woman disappears whenever she is needed.”   
  
“Ronald Weasley!  You are just so so so!” Hermione said, indignant on his mother’s behalf, ignoring the wicked smile he and Harry shared at her expense.   
  
“We should split up and look for her,” Harry said practically.  “You go look upstairs in the loos and stuff, Hermione.  Ron, you check out the library and sitting room”   
  
“Why can’t Hermione check out the library?” Ron complained almost by rote.   
  
“Because it’s a library and we do want to see her again today,” Harry said practically and laughed when Hermione swatted his arm.  “I’ll check out the hospital, you know how it makes you feel sick, Ron.”   
  
“It doesn’t make me feel ill,” Hermione said practically.   
  
“But if I found Mrs Weasley in a bathroom, then she would not be very happy about it, would she?  Oh for Merlin’s sake, people, stop arguing and get looking, we haven’t got all day!”  Harry huffed in exasperation.   
  
Ron and Hermione high fived each other in congratulations for making Harry get on his high horse, and both ran off with Harry in hot pursuit.  At the bottom of the stairs, Mrs Black began to scream indignantly about people running in the hallways, but they simply ignored her as they split up, each going to their separate destination.   
  
Hermione bounced upstairs to the first floor bathroom and tapped on the door, but there was no one in when she stuck her head around the frame.  Someone had left an incongruous pink and red bath toy shaped like a fish perched in the sink.  Giggling, the girl bounced up the next flight of stairs and tapped at the second bathroom door.  There was no answer so she stuck her head around the door and almost gasped aloud, stifling the noise with her hand.   
  
A pale body floated in the water, looking for all the world like a drowned corpse.  Livid swathes of black and blue bruising dottled its torso, and a deeply black bruise ran down one forearm.  Before Hermione could do more than gape, blood flooding to her cheeks, the corpse’ opened its eyes, and an all too familiar sneer curved pale lips.   
  
“You know, Granger, if you have finished getting an eyeful, you might like to close the door, you are letting in a very cold draft,” Malfoy said sarcastically but made no attempt to cover his modesty.   
  
Hermione glared, embarrassment morphing to anger.  “What are you doing here, Malfoy?” she snarled.  “Why aren’t you running around with your other Death Eater cronies?”   
  
“Learning to sing the Hallelujah Chorus of course, Granger, what does it look like I am doing?  And a Malfoy _never_ runs.”  He sat up and flicked his hair out of his eyes.   
  
“I thought you were a corpse,” Hermione said honestly, eyes narrowing as she assessed her year mate, taking in the bruised and battered look of him.  One particular set of black lines drew and held her attention, her curiosity sitting up and taking notice.   
  
“Sorry to disappoint, but not yet.  What are you doing here?”   
  
“I am looking for Molly Weasley.  I, oh dear, this is embarrassing, er, may I have a look at your Dark Mark.  I’ve never actually seen one up close.”   
  
Malfoy eyed her with a jaundiced air, then snorted and shook his head.  That was the last thing he thought she would be interested in.  “You are something else, Granger.  I am naked here, in my complete natural glory, and you want to see my tattoos?”   
  
Hermione glared and gave him a slow and insolent once up and down look, hiding what it cost her to remain unaffected.  “Well, it does prove you are a natural blond after all, but apart from that, I think the Dark Mark is probably the most interesting thing about you, unless you want help with those bruises?  The ones on your back look particularly nasty.”   
  
Draco shook his head and gave her an amused smile, disarmed by her sheer single-mindedness.  “Yes, I could use a hand with the bruising.  Whatever it was Tonks gave me, it has drained me almost out of strength, never mind magic.”   
  
Concerned, Hermione pulled out her wand and cast relieving charms over the long, thin bruises that wrapped around his torso, noticing there were quite a few of the marks as well as a few old ones.  Draco wasn’t very tall but he was well muscled, thanks to playing Quidditch for Slytherin.  Tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder, she turned him a little and tended to the next lot of stripes that curved over his ribs and spine.   
  
Draco didn’t move, allowing her to push him from side to side until she was satisfied she had fixed them all.  Finally, she gave a small noise of satisfaction and stood back a little, tipping her head to one side.  “That’s done, how does your back feel now?” she asked without malice.   
  
“Very good, thank you,” he murmured laying back in the tub and holding out his left forearm impatiently.  “Here, satisfy your curiosity.”   
  
She was pleased to note he had acquired some bubbles to preserve modesty then turned her attention to the Dark Mark, studying it intently, noting the way it almost seemed to study her back.  “It’s looking at me,” she breathed softly.   
  
“Yes, it often seems that way to me, too,” Draco muttered with a shiver, turning his head to look at her.  They were so close, his lips grazed her cheek, touching at the side of her mouth, and they both jumped guiltily.  “You had better go, Granger.  If Potty or the Weasel find you here, they’ll skin me alive which would be a shame considering all your handiwork.”   
  
Hermione nodded quickly and stood up then stopped to stare down at him for a long considering second.  “Take care, Malfoy, whip marks like that can’t always be healed cleanly, you know?  And you are rather _pretty_ looking.”   
  
He simply nodded with closed eyes as she left.


	5. Chapter 5

  
Author's notes: Okay, don't ask me how I managed to get two chapter the same, just luck, I guess.  Anyway, let's try that trick again, shall we.  The real chapter 5 - Da-DAh!!!!  


* * *

**Chapter 5**  –  _New Sides to Old Friends_

Ron entered the sitting room, originally the formal parlour when the Blacks had owned the house. There was a fascinating cabinet over on the far wall full of artefacts he was dying to study closely, but which his mother had always chased him away from when she had caught him sneaking around before. Seeing no one was present, Ron grinned wickedly and hurried over to the cabinet to cast a revealing spell before trying the handles. He jumped guiltily when the ornate brass knob turned in his hand and the curved glass doors swung open with a very faint squeak, a rush of musty air making him stifle a cough.

Whipping his head around, Ron made sure there was no one behind him before hunkering down and studying the very bottom shelf first, just in case there was something he had missed. There was one artefact on the second shelf he really wanted to have a look at, a small curved horn made of a dead white substance Ron rather thought would be bone. Bands of gold circled the trumpet shape, each engraved with runes. They were very decorative and probably had a secondary function, but what it was, Ron didn’t know. Still, he was wary enough to treat the artefact with caution, drawing his wand and casting a revealing spell over the thing. It didn’t show any Dark Aura so Ron prodded it with a cautious finger. When nothing happened, he picked the small item up and turned it curiously in his hand, examining it carefully.

He was so engrossed in his examination that the bang of the door slamming open to the stops made him fall onto his backside in fright. An unkempt figure stormed into the room cursing and swearing with an impressive vocabulary, fists pounding on jean-clad thighs as he kicked out at the furniture. Long, honey-blond hair curled wildly and spilled out of the leather thong that held most of it back, a curling hank obscuring one eye as it flopped down his face. A leather jacket, with a painted wolf’s head on the back, all scuffed and one pocket torn, was slung over a tightly stretched black t-shirt half tucked into the ratty and holed jeans. Heavy knee-high leather cycle boots thudded heavily on the threadbare Persian rug as the man paced agitatedly.

Ron didn’t dare move as the feral figure spun on his toes with wand extended, breathing heavily as Tonks appeared in the doorway, a wry smile curving her lips.

“You look like shit,” she said evenly, obviously recognising the wildman.

“Ah, fuck you, Tonks!” The snarl was bitter and harsh but only made the metamorphmagus laugh. “Did you hear what they have gone and done this time? Goddamnit! They are taking away our children!”

“What? What do you mean?” Tonks asked in surprise. “I heard the branding law had been stopped, and there would be no registration tattoos but….”

“Hah! The concession for that was that we couldn’t keep our current children or raise any children or adopt any children, not even infected children. Anyone raising a child by themselves is to have the child made a Ward of the Wizengamot, and you know what that means, don’t you? It means orphanages for the most part, and who runs the orphanages? The fucking Ministry, that’s who!” He spun on his toes and brought both fists down on the occasional table which all but flew apart in splinters under the impact.

Ron was impressed, to say the least, but he did not dare move. Tonks came forward and tried to wrap her arms around the man, but he shrugged her off impatiently. “They were after Harry, you know,” he said matter-of-factly, moving to hold onto the mantle shelf and lean down to stare into the empty fireplace. “I was with Minerva when the word came through, and that little weasel Percy said to tell me they were going to pull Harry’s adoption papers and then take Harry to St Joseph's on the Main. But we fucked them up there! I told Sirius not to put my name on the papers, I made him take it off again when he tried a sneaky one, and now I am so bloody glad, even if it nearly broke my heart at the time. They can’t touch Harry through me. Gods, I would never forgive myself if they could use me like that. As it is I can no longer own property, so I am turning this lot over to the Order which is a bequest in my Will. Let the Ministry try and fight that one! And I can’t have a bank account, so the vault at Gringotts has to go, too.”

“Shit! And I thought we had gained a victory.” Tonks sighed, shaking her head at the unfairness of it all. “It is pyretic, isn’t it?

“Totally; I’ve been up and down the country this last two days, trying to keep the Wild Wolves from taking out the Wizengamot, which they would try if someone didn’t try to talk them out of it. What a victory for You-Know-Who if that happened and what a disaster for the werewolves, just another confirmation of their unsuitability to be counted in Wizarding society.” The bitter laugh was almost a sob as he shook his head.

“When did you last sleep, Remus?” Tonks asked gently, and Ron couldn’t help gaping when he finally realised who the wild and woolly character was. This was not the quiet spoken and self-effacing DADA teacher he remembered but someone entirely different. Someone who was wild and totally out of control, dangerous and unpredictable, and very, very cool!

‘ _Like Bill used to be, before the raid on Gringotts’,_  the thought crept in.

“Aaugh, who’s had time to sleep! Moon’s coming in little more than a week, and we’re all at the end of our patience. I have fifty or sixty stirred-up wild wolves with enough adrenalin to power a major revolution, and I need a safe target to vent it on or it will be a disaster. What has Snape come up with for us?”

Tonks bit her lip as she moved toward the far wall and opened a drinks cabinet, glass clinking as she worked. “Severus Snape is out of the running, probably permanently. He is lying in pieces all over the kitchen table with his guts hanging out to dry, or he was half an hour ago. If he survives the night, he may never regain consciousness; and if he does regain consciousness, he may be a complete mental vegetable.” Tonks turned and offered the werewolf the glass she had poured.

Remus had turned to stare at her looking gobsmacked. He made no effort to take the glass, stunned by the bad news. Snape was such a valuable asset to the light, more than anyone else at the moment, and his loss would be catastrophic! “Well, that’s us screwed then, isn’t it? Much as Severus can be a total prick, he is a bloody efficient spy. We are fucked! What about back-up lines of information? Is there anyone else who can fill his place or at least has a chance of passing any information at all?”

“No, not off-hand. The information our other informant passes is good but not particularly complete, as he is not what you call inner circle like Snape, more like an interested eavesdropper. As you so inelegantly put it, we are definitely screwed at the moment, but it doesn’t do to fall into despair, we have been in just as poor a position before, and we have managed to come about, you know that. Everyone said that the death of Professor Dumbledore would be the end of the Order, but we survived and we came about and we are stronger than ever,” she added persuasively and held out the glass again. “Here, drink it, it will make you feel better, I promise. I found it especially for you.”

He sniffed hard and grabbed the glass, upending it in one gulp and making Tonks laugh. “Now that is interesting! What is it?”

“It’s a chocolate crème liqueur; cognac and chocolate in a bottle.” Tonks grinned and obligingly poured more into the impatiently thrust-out glass. “It’s potent, mind, more so than good firewhiskey.”

“Better than sex,” he growled, taking the bottle from her hand and refilling his glass for the third time.

“Sure about that?” Tonks asked leaning forward to press against the man, who barked a laugh and pushed her away with a rather gentler hand than he could have.

“Wrong shape, little girl,” he commented with a sneer that wobbled into laughter lines.

Tonks morphed into a burley masculine form, broader and taller than the slightly built werewolf. “How does this take you?”

“Roughly from behind sounds good, if we didn’t have an audience,” Remus muttered and grinned ruefully over her shoulder, his golden eyes meeting and holding Ron’s terrified blue ones. “Morning, Ron,” he greeted with a tired tipsy salute, no longer looking wild or dangerous, just sad. The boy really hadn’t needed to hear anything like that, and Remus’ conscience pinched as he eased away from Tonks, who morphed back into her more usual shape.

“Holy shit! Merlin, Ron Weasley, your mother will kill me!”

Both Ron and Remus looked at her in surprise and shrugged. “Don’t know why, it wasn’t your fault I heard something I wasn’t supposed to,” Ron commented miserably. “I’m sorry, Professor Lupin, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“Remus will do, Ron. What have you there? Oh, Regulus’ sneaky ear, a bit like your brothers’ extendible ears, only more primitive and upmarket. Doesn’t matter what you heard, the news about the new werewolf laws will be on the front page of the Daily Prophet for anyone to read by tomorrow morning. Thanks to your brother we had enough of a warning to make different arrangements for most of the property and children. Very few were caught, most having shifted the responsibility to family or friends. As for Professor Snape’s injuries, well, I’m sure they will become common knowledge all too soon.” He finished his third or fourth glass of the liqueur and licked the inside clean with his tongue before pouring another brimming glass. “This stuff is bloody good,” he commented absently as he chewed on his unshaven lip.

“You should be under the table by now; that stuff is lethal,” Tonks commented disapprovingly, checking the level of the much depleted bottle.

“I’m a werewolf, darling; I have the constitution of a horse.”

“And you have picked up some bad habits from your wild friends,” Tonks added with pursed lips.

“Probably fleas, too,” he shot back with a wicked grin that made Ron giggle, his embarrassment of a moment ago forgotten.

“Well, you could use a jolly good wash, now you mention it, you pong!” Tonks sniffed delicately and made a show of holding her nose which had morphed into something an elephant would not be ashamed of. “Too many cleaning spells and not enough soap and water over too long a period of time, I’m thinking.”

“What I  _need_  is a bath, a shave, a haircut and some decent robes; what I am going to have to settle for is a damned good meal, then get on the road again. If Snape is out of the running, I had better tap my other sources and see what I can find out. Merlin’s Arse, Tonks, I must have been a wicked bastard in my past life!” He heaved himself to his feet, staggered once, then straightened and drew his wand. Most traces of drunkenness disappeared at his charm, and before he left he cast  _R_ _eparo_  over the table almost carelessly. Ron could only admire the skill that went into making it look so effortless as he followed the werewolf out and went to look for Harry.

oo0oo

Hermione was just coming down the stairs and stopped in surprise and admiration as the man swaggered by, heading toward the kitchen. He had broad shoulders and a great behind, cupped in worn denim, and looked totally edible in a very bad-boy way. Ron glanced up and caught her staring, covering his mouth in wicked amusement. He had seen that look on Hermione’s face before when checking out the backsides of the Quidditch chasers in the Canons line-up, very discretely, of course.

“And  _who_  was  _that_?” she asked, no longer blushing when her best friend caught her looking. She and Ron had a very firm understanding, now that they had passed the madly infatuated stage and moved into the friends-for-life-but-platonic stage, same as she and Harry. It had taken quite some time to reconcile themselves and Molly to the fact, but now they were comfortable with each other again.

“Down, girl, I don’t have any napkins to wipe up the drool,” Ron teased cheerfully. “Oh, he’s just a field agent,” he added airily when Hermione looked like she might choke him.

A bark of laughter came from the kitchen and from the parlour doorway as Tonks came out and overheard them. “Turn your ears down, Mister! This is girl talk!” she bellowed and another bark of laughter came from the kitchen. “Forget it, Hon, Remus doesn’t go in for little girls as he just informed me a few minutes ago.”

“That wonderful piece of man-flesh is not available or interested?” Hermione squeaked and grinned almost maliciously as Ron turned bright scarlet, hushing her almost frantically. “What? You started it,” she reminded him with a wicked grin.

“It’s Professor Lupin, Hermione, and he can hear you!” Ron hissed making hushing motions.

“Profes… Oh Merlin!” Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth her eyes as big as saucers. She was brave enough when teasing Ron or Harry, but not when caught out by ‘authority’.

“Yeah, it's marvellous what those blasted robes can conceal,” Tonks added with a grin for the younger woman. “Makes you speculate about other well known public figures, doesn’t it? Snape? Malfoy? Fudge?”

“That is an image I could have lived without,” Ron gasped and gagged theatrically while Hermione and Tonks collapsed in each other’s arms giggling madly. “Come on, Hermione, let’s find Harry before I have to pull my eyes out and pop my eardrums to survive!”

“Ah! You’re no fun, Weasley,” Tonks teased, ruffling his hair as he passed.

There was a sudden, unearthly screech from further down the passage, and they all cringed as Mrs Black’s picture let loose a string of invective, screaming about wild, filthy animals and disgusting man-loving social climbers. She was mid-way though another tirade when a roar of sheer fury caught them all by surprise.

“I have had enough of you! You were a brass-plated bitch in life, and you have not improved in death. Sirius might have thought you were funny, sitting up there mouthing invectives like a wind-up spell, but I am not so tolerant!”

The picture’s screams of temper became screams of fear as a horrendous ripping sound caused them all to run forward. Remus stood before the picture, his jacket discarded, his wand transfigured into a saw-bladed knife. Muscles rippled as he stuck the point into the wall despite the spells and curses on the plaster and lathes. Magic crackled and sparked as the point was pushed further and further into the wall despite magic. Lupin swore fluidly and fluently as sparks bit into his skin. No matter what the magic did, Lupin ignored it as he ruthlessly and vindictively cut a square out of the wall, neatly excising the picture, frame and all.

Tonks had her wand out and was quick to put out any sparks that tried to set the werewolf alight, as he worked with the grim determination of the slightly drunk and very angry. Fire, especially magical fire, was very dangerous to werewolves, but Lupin seemed oblivious in his ire.

Finally, with a long drawn-out wail, the picture came free, leaving a new window into the kitchen. The piece of wall fell on the hall runner with a clatter as Lupin drooped, his breath coming out in great gasps as he glared down triumphantly at the old woman, who stared up disbelievingly from her place on the floor. “Damn you, you animal! I curse you to hell and….”

“Too late, Witch, I already got there and I’m coming back to get you, too!” he roared, taking a swig of the bottle he had still clutched in his left hand. “Now, how are we going to make you suffer, humm? I remember Sirius put the hose on you and that didn’t work. Perhaps if we….” He was reaching for the fly in his jeans even as he spoke.

“Remus Lupin! What do you think you are doing, man!” Arthur Weasley sounded scandalised as he hurried up, surveying the hole in the wall and the fallen painting with open-mouthed disbelief. “Well, I never! You cut her down? I thought there was too much magic to just cut it out. What did you use to counteract the spells?”

“Chocolate liqueur and bad temper, mostly,” Tonks put in and stuck her tongue out at Remus who – incredibly – poked his very long tongue out in return.

Shaking his head, Arthur chuckled and levitated the picture away from the wall and up the stairs. His spell banished the painting to the attic, into the darkest, quietest corner he could find. Tonks slung an arm around the blushing Remus’ shoulders and turned him toward the kitchen while Ron and Hermione watched them go. Arthur frowned at the two young people as if wondering what they were doing there, so Ron hurriedly bursting into speech.

“We were just looking for Mum to ask her something. Do you know where she is?”

“In the ballroom, I should think. Professor Snape has been badly hurt, and your mother has been working all night. If you can avoid disturbing her, I would appreciate it, son.”

“Okay, Dad, we’ll only speak to her if she’s awake. Come on, Hermione, we’d better find Harry.”


	6. Chapter 6 - Passing The Trust

**Chapter 6**  –  _Passing the Trust_

Harry leaned against the doorpost leading into the ballroom and braced himself. He always needed to gather his courage before entering the make-shift hospital with its fancy chandeliers and folding army cots. It angered him that good people fighting for the Light could not go safely to St Mungo’s when their lives depended on the quality of care they received after battling the Dark. All they could get was one ex-St Mungo’s medi-wizard and Poppy Pomfrey’s admittedly wide range of experience, but it was sometimes not enough and good people died.

Still, there shouldn’t be too many injured in the hospital at this time. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been thwarted on a number of fronts and the casualty list had been reasonably light these past few months. Steeling himself, Harry eased one leaf of the double doors open and crept into the darkened area on tiptoes.

“Mr Harry Potter!”

The squeak made him jump and gasp as Dobby wrapped long arms around his legs, effectively hobbling him in the middle of the aisle. “Gods, Dobby, you half scared me to death! What are you doing here?”

“Dobby is bringing supplies to Mr Harry Potter’s house and is cleaning Mr Harry Potter’s spare rooms and is making sure Mr Harry Potter’s guests have clean bed linen and towels, which is Dobby’s job now.”

“I – you mean Remus’ and my house?” Harry corrected softly, trying to keep the house elf’s voice down.

“Oh no, Mr Harry Potter, Sir; the Ministry said Mr Remus Lupin-Black cannot have a house now. He is a werewolf and is not allowed to have a house of his own, so he said it is now all Mr Harry Potter’s house. Is Mr Harry Potter not knowing this, Sir?”

“I – no Dobby, I didn’t. When did this happen?”

“Yesterday two days ago, Sir; Mr Remus Lupin-Black is being very busy telling other werewolves how to be hiding their children and their houses and their monies. He is back now and he is not happy to be an animal.”

“Dobby!”

“I am so sorry, Sir, but this is what Mr Remus Lupin-Black tells to Dobby when Dobby is asking.”

“And where is Remus now?” Harry asked softly.

“He is destroying Mrs Black’s painting, and making a hole in Harry Potter’s wall.”

Harry laughed; the almost rusty sound seemed out of place in the dim sick hall. Someone stirred off to their right, a vague figure sitting up on one elbow to stare in their direction. “That you, Potter?”

“Mrs… Figg?” Harry questioned uncertainly.

“Aye, it is, Lad. Well, don’t just stand there gawping, come over here where I can see you. Well! You have grown up, but not that much taller, hey? How have you been since you moved to Hogwarts permanently?”

“Quite well, Mrs Figg, and you? How are the cats?”

“Oh, they are very well, cats usually are. Saw that pig of a cousin of yours the other day; Minky scared him so badly he broke wind to give himself a better turn of speed.” The old woman cackled with relish at the memory, then held her ribs as they ached against the jiggling. “Damned Death Eaters! No respect for age! You never know where they are going to pop up next!”

“Where did they get you, Madam?” Harry asked politely as he helped ease the old woman down against her pillows comfortably.

“They were in Diagon Alley, of all places! I was shopping and they just came out of no where! Wands flaring, masks flashing, curses going willy-nilly! Silly buggers, no style!” she grumbled disgustedly.

“Who is that you have with you, Bella?” a new voice asked curiously from their right.

“A neighbour of mine, Phyllis, haven’t seen him for a while.”

“Was he hurt in the attack too?”

“No, of course not, you daft Besom; he’s Harry Potter, the lad I used to babysit for those terrible Dursley pigs.”

“ _The_  Harry Potter? Oh my goodness, and me in a hospital gown and all, at a time like this. Oh, for goodness sake, how awkward. I am very pleased to meet you, Mr Potter, we’ve heard so much about you,” the woman, at least as old as Arabella Figg, simpered.

“Aye, since he were two years old belike!” Arabella snorted in disgust. “Go to sleep, Phyllis, you are dreaming!”

“That wasn’t kind,” Harry sniggered, squeezing the old woman’s hand gently. “I’m actually looking for Molly Weasley. Do you know if she is in here?”

“Yes, she brought someone new in a few hours ago and immediately put up the privacy curtain. I don’t think they’re holding out much hope for this new one, looked like a mummy with all those bandages and spell bindings on it. We couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman, to tell you the truth.”

“Oh. Perhaps I shouldn’t disturb her,” Harry pondered softly.

“Aye, and perhaps you should. Sometimes, in those death watch situations, it’s nice to know there are living folk about,” Mrs Figg counselled gently. “Off you go lad, and quietly.”

Standing up, Harry nodded, squeezed her hand and moved silently down the central aisle toward the closed privacy curtains. He wondered who would be so badly injured that they had to wrap him up like a mummy. Most wizarding medicine didn’t require bandages or stitches or any of the other things Muggles took in their stride. Moving carefully and slowly, he eased his hand into the fold of privacy curtain and carefully moved it aside very slowly. The charms on the curtains allowed for slow movement, the rationale behind them saying that it gave time for the attendants to refuse entrance to a visitor. Anyone trying to move quickly would find the cloth took on the properties of steel plating.

Harry managed to put his head around the screen and glanced at the patient laying flat on the bed. He wasn’t familiar so Harry ignored him as he looked further in for Molly. He spotted her slumped in a chair beside the bed, her head tipped to one side, resting on her hand. She looked very uncomfortable and cold as he eased in, the black circles under her eyes so very dark she looked like a panda. Taking his wand out slowly, Harry very carefully wove a warming spell around the sleeping woman, a half smile curving his lips as she moved and smiled in her sleep.

Turning to leave, Harry nearly shrieked when he realised the man on the bed was now sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide open. He must have been tall as his face was on the same level as Harry’s, so close their noses almost bumped as Harry turned away from Molly. The squeak of surprise was cut short as the man’s black eyes caught Harry’s green and froze him to the spot. There was no iris to those eyes, only pupil, black and reflection-less, bottomless pits of blackness sucking him into another place.

“ _From Elder Snake to Younger Lion,_

_In marble cold, holds the timeless bier_

_Come to_ _the Blood, through Fire rising,_

_The Phoenix shall give up its eld.”_

Harry knew the voice, knew it as well as he knew his own but could not place it, no matter how hard he tried. Even worse, he could not move away, as he felt something touch the side of his hair then settle around his neck. Whatever it was, it moved against his chest and seemed to snuggle down under his clothes. Frozen in place with never a spell whispered, Harry was unable to move or do anything to stop it. For a horrible moment he was suspended in a limbo of nothingness, worse even than when he shared Voldemort’s dreams. Then he was free.

His breath came out in a shuddering gasp as he realised he was staring into the man’s eyes, his forehead resting lightly against the stranger’s. Realising his limbs were now free, Harry all but threw himself away from the man who slowly sank backwards until he was once again lying as still and as unmoving as an effigy. Molly snorted a little in her sleep, the ordinary sounds of the ward coming over the privacy screen in the normal, muffled way. For a moment Harry wondered if he had dreamed the whole episode but then he felt some odd weight around his neck. Moving cautiously, he pulled the neck of his shirt out with one finger and peered down at his chest. There was definitely something there but it was snuggled tight to his upper breastbone and he couldn’t see it.

Curious, he eased out of the security screen and headed for one of the mirrors on the ballroom wall near the door, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Before he could take a proper look the door opened a crack and both Ron and Hermione slipped in, both staring at him in surprise.

“Harry…. Why are you half undressed?” Hermione asked curiously, keeping her voice down to a low murmur.

“I-I…. The oddest thing just happened to me,” he muttered, turning back to the mirror and pulling his shirt open while peering in the mirror.

“Whoa! Now that is beautiful, seriously creepy, but beautiful,” Ron remarked, peering over one shoulder while Hermione peered around the other arm.

“It’s a serpent, a cloisonné serpent on a gold chain,” Hermione said knowledgably. “It looks really old and very well made, a hand-made piece, not a mass-produced one. Where did you get it?”

“Your mother’s patient just gave it to me,” Harry told them, slipping his fingers under the gold chain and trying to pull it off but the chain appeared to be too short. “What? But he didn’t undo the catch; he just slipped the chain over my head!” He pulled on the two ends but could not snap the chain either.

Ron grabbed it with both very large hands and tried his strength, only letting go when the chain seemed to shrink and try to strangle Harry. “This is bad, very bad,” he remarked to his best friend as Harry gagged a little then realised the chain had again lengthened to a comfortable, but not removable, length.

“Well, it’s obviously a wizard’s piece of jewellery or it wouldn’t try to be irremovable. Perhaps we should ask Mr Weasley or Professor Lupin about this?” Hermione counselled sensibly.

“Remus is here? Where?” Harry demanded.

“Oh, he’s here alright but he’s not like he used to be, believe me!” Ron smirked as Hermione led the way to the kitchen.

Harry eyed the hole in the wall with disbelief as they passed it, Tonks having hung a curtain up over the gap. At the kitchen door Harry paused for a moment then grinned widely when he saw his Godfather sprawled in the chair, a foot hooked on the far rung as he teased Tonks who was cooking something. Laughing, he flung himself forward, hugging the werewolf unselfconsciously as Remus caught his balance and the young man who was pounding on his back.

“Harry! It’s so good to see you! When did you get here?  _How_  did you get here?” Remus demanded, pushing him back to arms’ length and studying him closely. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, of course not, or at least, I don’t think so. Hey, have you ever seen anything like this?” he asked, opening his shirt again.

“Phew! That’s an expensive piece of glitter, no doubt about that!” Remus commented, lifting it with a finger and studying the intricate scales on the snake carefully. “A bit of an odd piece for a Gryffindor to start wearing, don’t you think?”

Tonks turned and gaped at the snake pendant but even as she opened her mouth to comment, there was a blinding burst of light from the snake’s eyes that sent Remus toppling back off his chair and Tonks diving for her wand which was on the bench. Harry squawked indignantly as his best friends drew their wands on his Godfather and his friend even as Remus straightened but did not put away the wand that had all but leaped into his hand.

“Now that was an interesting thing,” the werewolf remarked softly, staring at Harry’s neck with narrowed golden eyes. Before anyone could react, he cast  _Acclaro_  with a twist and whistled silently at the results, Tonks following suit as she lowered her wand, too. “There’s no evil in it and now it is a Light symbol rather than a snake.”

“What? What’s happening? Guys! Hey, guys! Talk to me, please!” Harry was totally ignored as his friends examined and admired his pendant until he simply buttoned up his shirt again. “Have I your attention, now? Good! What the hell happened just then?”

“Harry, language,” Remus said almost reflexively and Ron burst out laughing, making the werewolf blush vividly. Ignoring the redhead’s almost silent teasing of, ‘ _don’t do as I do, do as I say,_ ’ he cancelled his  _Acclaro_  spell and set his chair back on its legs before seating himself again. “The snake turned into a phoenix, just as perfect in every detail.”

Harry blinked then his eyes went round as something seemed to take over his mouth for a few moments.

“ _From Elder Snake to Younger Lion,_

_In marble cold, holds the timeless bier_

_Come to_ _the Blood, through Fire rising,_

_The Phoenix shall give up its eld.”_

It was gone instantly and he coughed hackingly as Hermione reached into her inner robes for her ever-present notebook to copy the verse down. “What appalling metre but it has that sort of ‘Trelawney’ feel to it. Harry, how do you feel?” she asked with clinical interest.

“Really, really cranky!” he snapped glaring around impartially. “First, I get assaulted by a patient, who gives me a mysterious pendant and a very bad poem, then my Godfather attacks me with a flash spell, and then I am told I have a phoenix around my neck instead of a snake…”

“I didn’t flash you, the snake flashed me as it became a phoenix,” Remus corrected softly.

“… and everyone is pointing wands at me like I was a bad guy,” Harry finished in aggrieved tones that sounded a lot like a petulant whine even in his own ears.

“I think you have just been assaulted by an incoming prophesy,” Tonks said lightly but her hair was a plain brown, a good indicator that she was both serious and unsure.

Hermione nodded sagely while Ron’s jaw dropped as he stared from one person to the other. Tonks leaned over and pushed his jaw up with a finger tip as she scattered plates over the table as if she was dealing cards. With a practiced flip of her wand, she landed a heaped platter of bacon, eggs, and sausage followed by a bowl of baked beans and a bowl of chips onto the table.

“If you want toast, burn your own,” she commented as she flung herself into the nearest chair which tottered undecidedly before landing on four legs and dug in only a fraction of a second behind Remus. “That snake pendant was around Snape’s neck when I saw it a few hours ago and it was impossible to take off. It was magically attached of course, but nothing special.”

Remus raised his eyebrows questioningly, his mouth full of sausage and eggs. Before he could swallow, Ron clicked his tongue in enlightenment. “’Elder Snake’ is Snape of course and ‘Younger Lion’ is Harry. The ‘whatever it is’ has passed from the snake to the lion already.” It was Hermione’s turn to gape at her friend in surprise making him blush vividly. “What? It’s really obvious, isn’t it?”

“Earth to flame. Snakes live in the earth and Phoenixes renew in fire so that would mean the change in the pendant, wouldn’t it?” Harry muttered then shook his head. “No, that’s not right it’s ‘ _Come to the Blood, through Fire Rising_ ,’ sounds like something is being summoned.”

“Well, the last line is sort of rhetorical, new phoenixes always leave the old one in the ashes, everyone knows that but what the hell is an eld?.”

“But this seems to imply that the phoenix is giving something besides itself, do you see? And to which phoenix is it referring?” Remus asked around a large mouthful of food. He shrugged when he realised he had their undivided attention. “In the time of the greatest persecution of witches in Germany, the code phrase for the freeing of a witch was ‘the phoenix has risen from the ashes’, just a bit of trivia for you. The phoenix could be a person, a cause, a thing or even a bird, and that is what we need to work out before we can decide what an ‘eld’ is.”

“I wonder if there is a reference in the library,” Hermione mused, picking at the second breakfast while the boys dug in enthusiastically. She noticed Professor Lupin took frequent pulls from the bottle that sat at his elbow and every time he did Tonks’ grin grew wider. Leaning across to the older witch, Hermione murmured, “What are you planning?”

“Not a thing,” Tonks assured her with a twinkle and a wink. “Being a metamorph-magus has advantages and I plan to practice my talent at any point I can. After all, practice makes perfect, and he doesn’t like ‘little girls’.”

“Very true,” Remus replied, his grin showing a lot of teeth as he blinked innocently.

Tonks grinned back then casually filched a piece of bacon off Harry’s plate to replace the sausage and bacon Remus had just stolen from her. Harry frowned and pinched Ron’s food making him howl and stab Hermione’s last sausage as she shook her head in resignation. “Do they ever grow up?” she asked rhetorically and Tonks giggled as Remus stole Hermione’s eggs to clear her plate.

“Not so you’d notice,” Remus murmured wickedly as he finished his plateful, more than both boys managed to demolish together. “That hit the spot,” he nodded and blew Tonks a kiss before finishing the bottle of chocolate liqueur and belching quietly into his hand as he rose. “Well, I had better have a quick word with Arthur and Draco before I push off again.”

“What do wombats and werewolves have in common?” Tonks said in a non sequitur to Hermione, making the boys frown and shake their heads at the silliness of women in general and these two in particular. When Hermione grinned and shook her head a little, Tonks pursed her lips and spoke at a more normal tone. “Eats, roots and leaves.”

There was a splutter of laughter from the students and Remus, poised in the doorway, burst out laughing. “Is that an offer?” he asked the grinning Tonks, ignoring the other three totally.

Tonks wiggled her eyebrows and followed him out. “Take care of the dishes, guys,” she tossed over her shoulder as they disappeared.

“I don’t know if I should laugh or barf,” Ron muttered, his ears bright red.

“I guess we’re all grown up now,” Hermione replied thoughtfully as she gathered the dishes and sent them over to the sink with a charm.

“An off-colour joke makes you conclude that?” Ron questioned incredulously as he put away the dishes Harry washed and Hermione dried Muggle fashion.

“Well, would either our Professor or an Auror make such a joke in the presence of children? Of course not, ickle kiddies need to be protected from such nasty topics so yes, I’d say we have finally been accepted as grown-ups.” Hermione nodded decisively.

“What gets me is how can Remus laugh when his world is crashing down around him?” Harry burst out resentfully. “They have revoked the rights of werewolves to own property…”

“...or have the raising of children,” Ron continued grimly. “I overheard Tonks and Professor Lupin talking in the sitting room. Remus said Sirius wanted him to adopt you too, Harry, but he wouldn’t let Sirius put his name on the documents in case they used it against you. And he was right; our Percy told Professor McGonagall about it before the ministry could take you away.”

“I know, Sirius told me just before…. He also told me – and this is in strictest confidence – that he was married to Remus and stuff – yes Hermione, they were gay and married very quietly when they first left school, is that a problem for you? – And that I was to watch out for Remus just as Remus would look out for me. It was a bit of an eye opener but not hard to accept once I got used to the idea. Actually, it sort of made me feel better about Sirius dying even if Remus wasn’t officially named, do you see?”

Before they could get any further into the discussion, Arthur Weasley came in and stopped short to see his youngest son and his friends sitting at the table. “What are you lot still doing here, especially as it is a school weekend?” he asked in surprise but without anger.

“Er, Hi, Dad, I – I… that is….” Ron took a deep breath then let it out in a whoosh. “Sit down Dad, I have something to discuss with you, something important.”

“Do you want us to leave?” Hermione asked delicately.

“Nah, it concerns Harry too, and you, I suppose,” Ron said offhandedly making his father stare at his perceived rudeness and Hermione roll her eyes. “Look Dad, Professor McGonagall has invited Hestia Jones and Mad Eye Moody to come to school and begin giving Auror training to any candidate who meets the academic and practical criteria. Harry and I took the tests last month and we have both been accepted.”

“Well, congratulations boys, but your mother is going to go be a bit upset, you know, Ron. We would prefer you go into something a little less dangerous…” Arthur began then bit his lip as his youngest began to colour up.

“Like banking?” Ron snapped, then sighed and ducked his head. “Sorry, Dad, that was mean. Look, point one; we are going to have to battle, whether we like it or not and no one is going to be safe. Point two; He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is going to come after Harry sometime and that is a given. Point three; we are going to be either next to Harry or near enough to get caught in the cross-fire, too. At least this way, we will both have a fighting chance to survive the encounter or at worst, do some real damage before….”

All three young people exchanged long and knowing looks, far too old for such young and bright faces, making Arthur’s heart ache for them. They were not even eighteen yet and already resigned to looking death in the face. The most incredible part was their ability to laugh and enjoy their lives even though one of them had a death sentence hanging over his head and his two friends were voluntarily sharing in his fate without a qualm or a demure. Hopeful eyes watched him across the table as he sighed and rose.

“I’m very proud of you, Son, well done. Enjoy the training and don’t worry about your mother, I’ll make sure she understands. Well done, Harry, too, you’ll both make very fine Aurors, I know.” He held out his hand to both young men and added a good hug for both before putting his hands on his hips and staring across at all three. “It still doesn’t explain why you are here instead of at Hogwarts.”

“Er, well…” Ron began, but Harry cut him off with a grin.

“You see, Sir, we are playing hookey. It’s a Hogsmeade weekend. Since we have our Apparation licenses, we just … popped in?”

Arthur snorted and shook his head, grinning back. “Don’t get caught,” was his only comment as he wandered out into the hallway. “Now, what am I going to do with this hole in the wall?” he mused aloud.

“Definitely growing up,” Hermione grinned at her two best friends as they gathered their things in preparation for departure.


	7. Chapter 7 - Alive, but Living?

Chapter 7 – _He’s Alive, but Living?_

 

**Pretty dreams, my baby, wait**  
Just beyond the Slumber Gate;  
Come, dreams,  
Come to baby, come;  
Come, dreams,  
Come to baby, come. 

*French lullaby by LAE Poulsson, adapted by Terry Kluytmans

<http://www.kididdles.com/mouseum/c067.html>

 

_The soft voice sang low and sweet, smooth as silk and gentle as a kiss.  He forced his eyes open and looked up into a dearly beloved face smiling down at him.  Long black ringlets fell over one shoulder, smelling of strawberries and lavender.  A broad, intelligent forehead rose above winged black eyebrows, and dark, laughing eyes sparkled above high, sculpted cheekbones.  Smooth olive skin, flawless and perfect, was soft under his fingers as he reached up to stroke one delicately tinted cheek.  A cascade of diamonds and emeralds glittered under the curls, catching his eye and his fingers, making tinkling laughter come from the perfect red lips as his small, clutching fingers were disengaged from his mother’s earrings.  She was so beautiful!_

_Her face was gone, another taking its place, a stern and bitter visage, all lines and angles with a thin, pale, almost lipless mouth set in an uncompromising slash.  “Leave the boy alone!  Put him down this instant!  You are coddling him, Silvana.  You are supposed to be preparing yourself for the reception which starts in less than an hour.  This is far too important to be late for.  You know the Minister expects all his departmental heads and their wives to be on time and in position well before the rest of the guests arrive, so we had better hurry up.  He will be fine with the house-elves, they are perfectly capable of looking after a child, or they wouldn’t be Snape house-elves.”_

_That voice made him cringe, harsh and cawing like a crow on a branch.  That man always came and took his dear Mama away, stole her from him.  Unfair, unfair!  One day maybe the man would go away, and they could be safe and happy by themselves, his mama and him._

 

He knew what was coming, knew it was horrific but was powerless to stop it as the scene unfolded.

 

_The house-elf held him tight, but the tiny creature could not prevent_ Her _from tearing him out of its arms and tossing him on the bed.  He cried, terrified by this vision so like_ him _but worse, much worse, tearing the clothes from his body, pinching and poking, stabbing him with a sharp blade.  She swore, bad words that Mama did not like to hear, and she hit him and stabbed him again, forcing his mouth open until he could taste a funny taste in his mouth.  She swore again, louder this time, and dribbled a really horrible drink into his mouth until he choked and coughed and swallowed between his screams.  He couldn’t spit it out; she pinched his nose and shook him until he could barely breathed, then she stared at him, her eyes just as sharp as the knife she had cut his hand with.  Shaking her head, she tossed him down on the bed so that he bounced and tried to scramble away, but she caught his ankle and pulled him back again.  Then the attempt to suffocate him came.  The plump, soft pillow over his face, pressing down, was cutting off breath, blackness dancing before his…._

 

oo0oo

Molly jumped awake as the alarm charm shrilled a warning.  For a fraction of a second she was disoriented, wondering where she was, then she realised her charge was not breathing.  The deathly pale man did not move at all, his chest did not rise or fall as she slammed a spell into him, trying to restart his heart and lungs.  There was no response to the standard spell, no answering beat of a heart or the throb of life in the vein.  Frantic, she worked like a Trojan to bring him back on life, a second pair of hands working with her as spells were cast and physical efforts made.  Suddenly, the long, thin man began to gasp for breath on his own, dragging in great lungsful and whimpering.

“That was close,” Roger remarked wiping his forehead as they both collapsed into chairs by the bedside.  “Damn!  He’s gone into tremors again.  Bloody Cruciatus Curse, no wonder it is on the list of Unforgivables!  Its consequences are vicious and just never ending.  Here, help me get this potion down his throat before he tears all our good spell work apart again.”

The rigid shakes made it hard to prise the man’s jaw open and force the potion down his throat.  There was added resistance as if the man fought their efforts with everything he had, doing his best to keep his mouth firmly closed against their intrusion.  Then Molly had to massage his throat to make him swallow rather than choke on the brew.  As the tremors slowly faded, the Potions Master became limp and unresponsive again, sinking down into the mattress until there was barely a hump where his body lay.  Such a thin man had little in reserve to help bolster himself against the damages that the residual curses continued to inflict and to assist in the healing.

Roger looked down at the disguised face and shook his head slowly.  “If he doesn’t start swallowing voluntarily in the next few hours, we may have to let him slip away, Molly, you know that,” he remarked sorrowfully, meeting her shocked and disbelieving gaze with compassionate eyes.  “If he has so few autonomous functions and cannot even swallow for himself, then what sort of life will he have?  We can’t put him into St Mungo’s or they will take him, and you know what will happen to him then.  Better he is allowed to die with a little dignity here than be tortured and mutilated, displayed and defiled by Death Eaters when he has no means of defending himself.  You know that is what will happen, you know it!”

Molly opened her mouth to refute but then closed it with a snap as she couldn’t.  Every word Roger spoke was the absolute truth, and there was no real way to refute his prognosis.  “I’ll look after him, I’m good at looking after people,” she muttered, not meeting the healer’s eyes.  “He just needs a chance for some peace, a little time to rest and recuperate without anyone forcing him to do anything, including wake up, that’s all.  Off you go now, sorry to disturb your rest,” she muttered mutinously.

Roger shook his head sadly and squeezed her shoulder as he passed out of the privacy curtains.  Molly was the kindest and most cooperative of souls until she got a bee in her bonnet, and then she was as stubborn as any witch ever born.  Usually he thought that stubbornness was a good thing but now that he was knocking his head against it, he was somewhat annoyed that she didn’t accept his diagnosis.  After all, he was the resident medical authority, wasn’t he?  And she was just a glorified nursing assistant.  Sighing at his uncharitable thoughts, Roger returned to his bed.

 

oo0oo

 

_“He is_ human _!  The useless brat is absolutely and completely human, without a glimmer of hope or a trace of bloodlust, and therefore is of no use to anyone!”  The scream of fury tore through the room, blasting the small family assembled before the throne-like chair in the Great Hall.  The riding crop slashed the air and cracked resoundingly on the side of the throne where the Matriarch sat in state._

_Clutched tightly in his mother’s arms, Sevvy hid his face in her sweet smelling hair and whimpered a little.  He knew that voice and that face, and it utterly terrified him.  “Bad lady hurt Sevvy,” he whispered in his mother’s ear with a sniffle that was almost inaudible._

_“Shut that squalling brat up!” Madam Veraline Snape snarled pointing a long bony finger at the younger woman she had hand-selected to be her heir’s wife.  What a mistake that was proving to be.  Maria Silvana le Toya had the perfect bloodlines to match with the Snape family line breeding programme, but for some reason she had failed to share the genes Veraline most coveted.  Veraline knew she could breed a perfect vampire who felt the need to feed without having a bite infection and all the problems that brought with it.  A perfectly uncommitted vampire who owed loyalty to no one but himself was a thing to be desired above all others.  “Thaddeus, my son, you have failed to breed the perfect heir and that is not good enough.  I want a real Heir, a vampire to open the vault without encumbrances, not that puling brat, so see to it!”_

_“Yes, Mother,” the crow man cawed, backing away and taking his wife and son with him, out of the hall, out of the presence, out of her reach for a few blessed moments.  He would barely admit it to himself, but his mother terrified him with her single-minded drive to create the perfect Snape vampire.  “Keep him quiet or she will hurt him,” he hissed a warning at his young and frightened wife._

_“Sevvy says she already has.  I told you those bruises I found on Sevvy after the Reception last month were not made by any house-elf’s hands,” Silvana hissed back, holding her baby close and muffling his terrified whimpering with her shoulder.  The baby struggled as if he could not breathe properly, and she eased her hold on his head, letting him look up at her as she gazed down in worry.  “What is it, Sevvy?  Did I hurt you?”_

_“Bad lady didded it,” Sevvy gasped, fear retreating until the man peered at him over his mother’s shoulders.  Then he keened and purposefully buried his face in his mother’s shoulder again._

_“How can he look like **that** and not be a vampire?” Thaddeus Snape demanded angrily, the baby was a carbon copy of him and growing more like him every day.  Unfortunately, Thaddeus was not a vampire either and the child was **exactly** like him, almost in every way.  “Mother wants us to have another child so we had better be prepared to do it,” he added, kissing his wife’s neck on the other side, away from his eldest and only off-spring._

_“Yes, Thaddeus,” Maria Silvana Snape said submissively, but her arms tightened around her baby tightly enough to raise another protest from the eighteen-month old child._

 

oo0oo

 

Three times in the next hour Severus Snape stopped breathing completely, twice his heart stopped beating and he was all but dead.  Molly brought him back again and again with the dogged determination of a pit bull with a bone.  Roger stared at her when she raised a hand as if to hit him for suggesting once again that it would be a kindness to let Severus go the next time he stopped breathing.

“NO!  _He_ isn’t getting even one more of mine, do you hear?” Molly screamed at the healer in a fury of denial, her wand extended and quivering to the beat of her anger.  “Severus is as much a part of this Order as any of us, and you have no right to deny him a chance of life, none at all!  I will not give up, ever!  How dare you even stand there and suggest such a thing to my face.  How dare you!”

Arthur wrapped his arms around his distraught wife and held her close as she began to sob in overwrought exhaustion, stroking her hair and murmuring soothing noises in her ear.  “There, there, Molly Dearest, just rest now, it will be alright, you’ll see.  I promise I will keep watch over Severus and make sure he is alive when you wake up again.  If I can’t keep him alive, I’ll wake you before he goes so you can be here.  Deal?”

Molly sniffed and nodded, the years of trust in her eyes as Arthur kissed her brow and made her rest on one of the cots close by.  She went reluctantly and lay down fully clothed, but her days of stress and magical outpourings came home to roost, dragging her down into sleep before her head even touched the pillows.

“If he dies, you know she is going to blame herself,” Arthur said flatly, pulling the thin cover up to her chin and smoothing it down.  A wealth of love shone in his eyes as he stared at the woman who had been his wife for over thirty-five years.

Roger stirred restlessly, uncomfortably in the face of such naked emotion.  “I know, but, Arthur, he is hovering on the brink, he may slip over at any moment.  I can do no more for him, it’s up to his own resources now and he has very little in reserve.  If he lives or dies, it is by his own will.”

“Severus may not be very fit or strong but he has a great will to live, if only to make sure that You-Know-Who dies before him.”

“Noble ambition,” Roger mused, not at all facetiously as he settled down near the Weasleys.  “I suppose it won’t hurt to keep a bit of a watch on him, will it?”

“Not at all,” Arthur agreed with a grateful smile.

 

oo0oo

 

****_“Day is done and night is near,_  
Off to sleep now, baby dear;  
Come, dreams,  
Come to baby, come;  
Come, dreams,  
Come to baby, come.” 

_Sevvy snuggled down in his mother’s arms, the bulge of her stomach moving protestingly under his weight.  Silvana laughed at both her children’s indignation.  “This is your baby sister,” Silvana whispered in Sevvy’s ear making him giggle and squirm when it tickled.  “You will be a big brother, and you must look after your little sister.  You will watch over her, my big boy, won’t you?”_

_Sevvy wrinkled his nose in thought then nodded vigorously.  “Will she play with me?” he asked curiously, patting his mother’s dress with a small, gentle hand.  He knew what ‘gentle’ was, and he knew what ‘hurt’ was, and he always made sure he was gentle; he didn’t want to make hurt for anyone.  He knew what hurt was, and he didn’t like it at all!_

_Silvana smiled painfully into the silky soft hair that smelled of baby potions and little boy.  “When she gets big enough she will play with you, and you can sing her the song, if you like.  You have a good voice for singing, my little one.”_

**“** _Weary you must be with play,_  
Running, running, all the day;  
Come, dreams,  
Come to baby, come;  
Come, dreams,  
Come to baby, come.” 

_The child’s thin treble and the woman’s rich contralto voices blended sweetly and floated out of the nursery to where Thaddeus Snape hovered in the hallway, fearful, grieving and angry.  It was all for nothing, everything was for nothing!  The new baby in his wife’s belly was a stupid, useless girl!  His mother had cast the spell herself, despite Silvana’s protests and attempts to foil the magic.  It revealed that the unborn child was a daughter, not even a boy, and even less desirable than the current heir who was at least male.  Veraline had given him very specific orders, both mother and child were to be put down immediately and the boy was to be present.  He was to watch what happened to anyone who thwarted the orders of the Matriarch in any way.  Steeling himself, Thaddeus thrust open the door and entered the nursery, making Silvana jerk around and the boy to sit up abruptly, wide black eyes suddenly narrowing as they stared at him, hatred already blooming there._

_“Silvana, stand the boy over there on the hearthrug.  Severus, you are to stay absolutely still, hands at your side, chin up.  Good!  At least you have learned to obey me in that much!”  Thaddeus glared at the child then cast a quick, silent spell over the boy, making sure he could not move or even shut his eyes._

_Severus tried with all his might to move but could barely make his feet shuffle as his father moved closer to his mother and sister.  Jealousy flared in Severus’ heart as he watched his father, wishing the man would disappear for ever and leave him and his mother alone!_

_His mother stood equally still, only her head moved in a tiny negating motion.  “Will you not at least wait long enough to spare our daughter?” she whispered but read the answer in her husband’s bleak and soulless gaze.  “Then let Sevvy go.  He does not need to be present for this, does he?”_

_“He must learn the price of disobedience,” Thaddeus said flatly, placing his hand on her cheek and running it gently down to her long, white throat in a parody of a loving caress.  Silvana shivered fearfully, held in thrall by the man’s snake-like gaze.  “I loved you and I will miss you, but I must obey the Matriarch, you know that, my beautiful, useless wife.”_

_Sevvy screamed, a soundless, wordless wail of horror as his father calmly and efficiently crushed his mother’s throat, the pale, pale skin growing blue and mottled, the terrified eyes bulging out of their sockets as she clawed at his hands in terror.  His little sister kicked too, making his mother’s dress move for some minutes after his mother fell bonelessly to the floor, utterly still.  Thaddeus turned to glare at the child who had caused his mother to order his wife’s death.  The useless, worthless, human child who stood at rigid attention, his eyes glued open and horror pouring from his skin in palpable waves._

_“This was all your fault, you pitiful excuse for an Heir, you caused their deaths and so on your head be it!”_

_He whirled away, leaving the child to shuffle painfully toward his mother’s body, unable to mourn or cry or rage, held helplessly to attention in the thrall of a cruel and unending spell._

 

****_Now it's time for you to sleep,_  
Hush now, baby, not a peep;  
Come, dreams,  
Come to baby, come;  
Come, dreams,  
Come to baby, come.  
  
Big and strong you're sure to grow,  
If to sleep you'll quickly go;  
Come, dreams,  
Come to baby, come;  
Come, dreams,  
Come to baby, come.


End file.
